“As though I’d let you,” she muttered.
“Care to say that a bit louder with a bit more force?” He wrung out the cloth and shifted his body on the bed in order to face her more squarely. “Don’t look so frightened, Gillie. I won’t kiss you if you don’t want me to.”
“I’m not frightened. I don’t frighten.”
He noted she hadn’t said she didn’t want him to kiss her. “Aren’t you curious regarding what it might be like between us?”
She thrust her glass toward him. “I could do with more whisky.”
He couldn’t stop his grin, but he did manage to make it look not quite so victorious as he exchanged her glass for his. “Have you ever been kissed?”
“None of your bleedin’ business.” She took a swallow of the whisky, licked her lips. How was any man to resist such an innocent yet provocative action?
But resist he did as he gently wiped the cloth over her high cheekbone. He couldn’t imagine a tavern owner wouldn’t have had men in her life. But if she had, why would the thought of a kiss make her nervous? Because of where it could lead? Because of where she wanted it to lead?
She certainly didn’t give the impression he repulsed her. Wouldn’t she have moved away from him if he did, instead of turning her face toward him like a bud in want of direct sunlight so he had easier access to that side of her face? “Appears you have a slight bruise on this cheek. Does it hurt?”
“No.” Her voice was soft, wary.
“Do you often get into skirmishes with your customers?”
“Not usually. Bad for business.”
“You think a lot about what’s bad for business.”
“Without a doubt. I want to have success, make my own way. Not be dependent on anyone.”
He moved the cloth down to her chin where another bruise loomed. She thought herself tough but his gut clenched at how easily she could be hurt. “You’re to be admired, Gillie.”
“I’m not so unlike anyone else trying to survive, except I’ve been extremely fortunate to be in a family where everyone works together. We help each other out whenever we can. Like right this minute, I suspect my brothers are downstairs, straightening up the mess.”
This woman had every right to complain about her life, the harshness of it. Instead she met it head-on and worked hard to make it better for herself. “Is Beast your brother as well?”
“Yes.”
“Beast, Aiden, Finn, and Mick. And your sister?”
“Fancy.” Suddenly she seemed self-conscious. “She’s the only one my mum gave birth to, but even so she was born out of wedlock. She’s much younger than the rest of us, and we all strive to protect her.”
“Now that you mention her, I believe I recall seeing her at the wedding. Someone pointed her out.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you noticed her. She’s very pretty.”
“You’re pretty as well.”
She scoffed, looked at him sadly. “Not like her. She’s delicate and refined.”
“Beauty comes in all forms, Gillie.” A week ago, he’d thought it only came in satin and silk, and now he saw it in coarse muslin and soft linen.
She closed her eyes as he traced the damp cloth along the narrow, delicate bridge of her nose. Her burnished eyelashes, darker at the tips, rested just above her cheeks. Her mouth was a temptation in which he could not yet indulge. He would not take until she was ready and he sensed she was not yet so. Slowly, tenderly, he moved to the other cheek. She opened her eyes, the green and brown rich and inviting.
“Why did you come tonight?” she asked softly.
To see you. Because I couldn’t stay away. He almost lied; he almost told her that he wanted to discuss further where they would search for his bride, but he could no more lie to this woman than he could leave her side when she was hurt. “Earlier in the evening, I received another missive from Lavinia. She pleads with me to let her be.”
“Lavinia?” A slight pleat appeared between her brows. “A fancy name your bride has.”
“Indeed.”
“Are you going to stop searching for her?”
“I haven’t quite decided. She said there is another. I assume she is with him, yet still I feel a need to ensure all is well.”
The crease deepened. “She threw you over for someone else and didn’t have the decency to tell you before you were at the church?”
“I suppose she didn’t know how to tell me.”
“She was a coward. She could have just said, ‘I want to marry someone else.’ It’s not that hard. I’m glad you didn’t marry her. You deserve someone stronger, someone with some gumption in them.”
Someone like her. Damn it all to hell, he’d planned to wait, to woo, to seduce. Instead she’d wooed and seduced him until all he wanted was her. With a slowness designed not to jar or hurt her, he lowered his mouth to hers.
She tasted of the dark richness of whisky, the sweetness of woman. Her hand came up and gently cradled his jaw, making him grateful he’d taken a razor to it before leaving his residence. Her soft sigh was music to his ears, shimmered through him, over him, around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of desire unlike anything he’d ever known.
He took the kiss deeper.
She loved the feel of that lush beautiful mouth against hers. His tongue traced the seam between her lips, almost a tickling, a teasing, and then with a bit more sureness. She no doubt should have admitted she’d never been kissed, had never wanted to be. This fire between them, or whatever it was, was only physical. He was such a gorgeous man, how could she not be drawn to him? Why he fancied her was beyond knowing. Perhaps he was simply tired of the posh in his life.
Then his tongue slid into her mouth, and she no longer was analyzing his reasons. She was simply parting her lips farther and enjoying the full taste and feel of his urgency, his passion, his wildness. She sensed he was holding back, either because he detected her inexperience or was concerned about her blasted injury. The wound ached, her head hurt, and she cursed them both for the unpleasant distraction that hovered at the far edges of her awareness.
She concentrated on him, the thoroughness with which he explored her mouth, his low growl when she returned the favor and slipped her tongue between his lips, tasting him fully and completely, relishing the dark flavor that was uniquely him. Or she thought it was. She had nothing with which to compare but couldn’t imagine any other man tasted as flavorful. With one hand cradling his jaw, she skimmed the fingers of the other up into his hair, loving the way the thick dark brown strands welcomed and curled around her. Tightening her grip, she held him, absorbing the warmth of his nearness.
Her limbs tingled, her body grew lethargic. If standing, she’d melt into the floor, and there would be wonder in that as well, falling along the length of his hard, masculine form.
His mouth slid off hers, trailed along her chin, creating a myriad of sensations that heated her to the core. She had this odd need for him to place his mouth elsewhere, on her breasts, her stomach, lower. Dear God, but she felt wanton, yet she seemed incapable of pushing him away as he nibbled along her throat, his tongue lapping at the sensitive skin, before he moved on to the next area. He reached her collarbone and his mouth lingered, suckling gently before journeying back up to her chin and retreating.
His eyes held hers, and she was surprised by how his smoldered with need, need that matched her own. Her earlier statement about never being frightened mocked her now, because she was terrified, terrified this aching hunger within her would never be satisfied, that the fires he’d kindled would never be extinguished, that they would burn until she was consumed by them.
Gently he tucked his finger beneath her chin, stroked his thumb over her lower lip, wet and swollen, still tingling. “We’re not done here, you and I. But I won’t take advantage of a woman who might not be thinking clearly due to a blow to the head.”
Take advantage, her mind screamed, but her tongue had the good sense to remain still.
He
rose to his feet. “Have you a book about that I could read to you?”
“A book?”
He began walking around, perusing one thing and then another. “Yes. I need to keep you awake. Reading might accomplish that. Something gruesome with a murder perhaps.”
She couldn’t help herself. Inwardly she smiled. “Something to take your mind off the kiss?”
Swinging around, he faced her, gave her a wry grin. “I am definitely in need of a distraction.”
“You don’t need to stay. I’m not going to fall asleep.”
“I’m not leaving, Gillie.”
She did wish she didn’t enjoy so much the way her name sounded on his tongue. Lifting a shoulder, she released a small sigh. “Front room.”
He started toward the open doorway, halted in midstride, paused a second longer like so many customers at her bar contemplating which liquor would get them quickest to where they wanted to be. Slowly he turned. “Would you like me to prepare you a bath?”
She stared at him as though he’d spoken to her in a foreign language. Or perhaps the blow to her head had caused her ears to become scrambled in their hearing. “I beg your pardon?”
A corner of that mouth that only a few moments before had been doing wicked things to hers hitched up. “You bathed me when you were caring for me.”
“That was different. You were filthy.”
“I suspect rolling around on the floor didn’t leave you exactly clean. If I were to move your clothing aside, I’m rather certain I’d find dirt elsewhere.”
“I’m not going to bathe in front of you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to.” That enticing hitch went up a little higher. “I would dream of it, to be honest, but I wouldn’t ask. I am striving to remain a gentleman here.”
Don’t hovered on the end of her tongue and she nearly bit the tip to keep it from releasing an answer that could send her spiraling into perdition.
“I’ll prepare it in here and wait in the other room until you’re finished.”
“I don’t have a lock on that door.”
“Gillie.” He heaved an impatient sigh. “If I were going to take advantage a lock wouldn’t stop me. And I’d have probably done it already.”
He had the right of it there. He could have taken advantage when she was with him in the coach the night before or as they’d walked along the street after witnessing the performances at the penny gaff or even inside the venue. No one would have thought anything of it. If they’d noticed, they’d have egged him on. But she couldn’t stop herself from pointing out, “You just now kissed me.”
“You wanted it as much as I did. Admit it.”
She plucked at a loose string on the quilt covering her bed. “I was curious.” Then, even though she’d claimed it was none of his bloody business, she admitted, “I’ve never been kissed before.”
Lifting her gaze to his, she was warmed to see the understanding in his expression. “I know.”
Panic hit her. She’d always wanted to do everything correctly. “Did I do it wrong?” Was that the reason he’d stopped? He hadn’t enjoyed it as much as she had?
“Hardly. I’d say you’re a natural.”
Like her mother, no doubt. Her mother had given away her kisses, given away her body—otherwise, Gillie wouldn’t exist. The truth was she did feel grimy, soiled. She and Charlie had been locked in an embrace, and based upon the hideous odorous cloud that had engulfed her with his nearness, she could state with clear certainty he was months away from his last yearly dip in a tub. “Yes, a bath would be lovely.” She angled her head questioningly. “Although I can’t imagine you, being a duke, know how to prepare one.”
That grin again. “You would be surprised at what I know how to do.”
So how did one go about preparing a bath? Thorne wondered as he stood in the kitchen area. There was a box of wood beside the stove, so he assumed he’d shove some inside and set it alight, fill a huge pot with water, and then another and another.
As he went to work, he admitted to himself that it had been a damned stupid idea to suggest the bath, but he’d been in dire need of some sort of physical exertion to distract himself from thoughts of her enticing lips and how the kiss had undone him. He’d kissed women before, lots of women, all sorts of women, but it had never felt as though any of them had reached deep within him and caressed his soul.
In spite of her innocence and lack of experience, she had poured all that she was into that mating of the mouths and it had shaken him clear down to the soles of his boots. Even as he’d wanted to retreat, he’d felt a stronger urge to rush headlong into an encounter unlike anything in which he’d ever engaged. How was it that this woman caused him to long for things, hunger for things he’d always discounted as the yearnings of fools?
While he waited for the water to heat, he noted the tidiness of the kitchen, then walked into the main room. A comfortable-looking sofa rested before the fireplace, two plush chairs covered in yellow floral fabric on either side of it. Several newspapers were spread out over a short-legged table before the sofa. He couldn’t imagine her perusing them for gossip. No, she would read the same articles that gentlemen did, newsworthy pieces that would keep her apprised of the world, industry, Parliament, and matters that might affect the profits of her tavern or provide her with ideas of how to improve it. On the mantelpiece was a small photograph, framed in pewter. They’d gone to a great deal of trouble and expense to hire a photographer to mark the moment, which alerted him that it held significance. He couldn’t stop himself from taking it and studying it more closely. In the background was her tavern. She stood before it, with a group of people he recognized as her brothers and sister. Beside her was a smaller woman, dark-haired, neither too slender, nor too round, whom he assumed was her mother. Gillie’s arm encircled her shoulders. As a matter of fact, everyone’s arms circled the shoulders of the person standing next to them forming a chain of comfort and support, clearly shouting to anyone who passed by that they were all in it together. He had no memory of either of his parents ever embracing him, ever standing so forcefully beside him. Gillie was a bit younger, smiling brightly, hope and joy reflected in her eyes. He couldn’t help but believe the photograph had been taken around the time she’d opened the tavern. He wished he’d been there to help her celebrate, to be part of the moment. With a scoff, he set the photograph back on the oak mantel. At the time he hadn’t even known she existed.
Turning, he smiled at a painting, wondering why he hadn’t noticed it before. A mermaid sat on a rock, her hand resting on a unicorn’s muzzle. She did seem to enjoy her mermaids and unicorns. And there was a shelf with numerous books resting on it. Overall, the room wasn’t fancy, but it reflected warmth, and he imagined how comforting she found it to return here after work each night.
After checking the water and seeing it was not yet boiling, he returned to her chamber, crouched before the fireplace, and built a low fire in the hearth so she wouldn’t catch chill. He could sense her watching him. “Am I doing it correctly?”
“Have you never built a fire before?”
Still on the balls of his feet, he twisted around. “There’s a crofter’s cottage on the estate. Abandoned. When I was a lad I’d sometimes sneak off to spend a rainy afternoon there. I had one of the servants teach me to build a fire. For some reason, it always irritated me when my father would call for the butler to light or stir the fire and the butler would call for a footman. We’re a lazy lot, the nobility.”
“But if you saw to your own needs, you wouldn’t need servants. Then how would they survive?”
Planting his elbow on his thigh, he studied her. “I hadn’t considered that our idleness serves a greater purpose.”
She gave him a shy smile. “You’re teasing me.”
“I am rather.” He glanced around, wishing it didn’t matter, yet knowing that somehow it did. “Have you ever had a man in these rooms before me?”
“No. Not even my brothers—well,
not after they helped me get all the furniture up the stairs. It’s always been my refuge.”
A knot in his chest that he hadn’t even realized was there loosened. She could have met a man elsewhere, but based on the kiss, on bits of conversation they’d had, on her admittance now, he thought it very unlikely she’d ever been intimate with a man—and it pleased him no end to know he would be her first. That thought nearly rocked him back on his heels, but he desired her as he’d never desired anything else in his life. Not that he could tell her that just yet. “It’s quaint and cozy. Warm. My residences all feel cold and it has nothing to do with the chill in the air.”
“Perhaps they simply need a woman’s touch.”
“They have my mother’s touch. That probably accounts for it. She’s a dragon of a woman and quite icy.” He came to his feet, walked over to the corner where a copper tub stood at the ready, and shoved it across the floor until it was situated in front of the fire.
“I’m really not sure this is a good idea,” she said.
“I welcome the challenge of it.”
She laughed. “Of pouring water into a tub?”
“No, of resisting the urge to touch you, to prove I am made of stern stuff.”
“You are aware if you do anything untoward I will kill you.”
“I can think of nothing I’d like more than to gaze into your eyes before I die.”
“I’m serious. I’ll not be trifled with.”
“I’m serious as well.” Incredibly so. Naturally, on occasion, he’d flattered women with trite words because such was expected, but she was the sort of woman who called for honesty at all times. He crossed the room, leaned against the bedpost, and folded his arms over his chest. “I can’t quite decide the color of your eyes. Sometimes they appear green, other times brown. When I look into them I see both colors.”
When a Duke Loves a Woman Page 16