"It's silly," she said, resting her cheek on the linen of his shirt. The gesture came so naturally. He smelled of tobacco, of wet leather, and of unbridled masculinity. "Never mind."
"Never mind, hell! Something or someone spooked you. You're standing here in the dark, shaking all over."
"My candle went out, was all." She offered the candlestick lamely. "I don't know how you found your way here in the dark."
"I played in this attic on rainy days as a child. I know every room as well as I know the back of my hand." He stroked her hair, still holding her against his solid frame. "So, tell me, wife. Has Algernon been trouble? I want the truth."
She looked up at him in the darkness. And though she could see nothing more than the silhouette of his face and the veil, she knew he was watching her. "It—it's been nothing I couldn't handle."
"The yellow bastard. I'll skin him."
She reached up to brush his shoulder with her hand, still unwilling to let Duncan release her from his embrace. "That was exactly why I didn't say anything. He's harmless, truly."
"Then why were you afraid?" He caught her chin with his callused fingertips.
Jillian didn't know what made her do it, but suddenly she found herself lifting up on her tiptoes to kiss him. As her lips brushed his, she slid her hand around his neck. The scent of him was intoxicating . . . the taste of him pure magic.
As she pressed her lips against his, Jillian felt Duncan hesitate, but only for a fleeting moment. Perhaps he didn't hesitate at all . . .
The candlestick fell from her hand and rolled away.
"Jilly . . ." he whispered against her mouth, his resonant voice sending shivers of pleasure through her body.
No one had ever spoken her name as Duncan did.
"Yes," she heard herself murmur as she parted her lips, a sudden sense of urgency in her kiss.
He thrust his tongue into her mouth, bringing his broad hand up to cup her breast. No man had ever touched her this way before, and yet it seemed as natural to her as drawing breath.
Jillian heard herself moan softly, thinking to herself that she shouldn't respond so boldly. What would her husband think? But, oh, his unhurried caress was exquisite.
Duncan kissed the pulse of her throat, murmuring words in some foreign tongue. Oddly, it didn't matter to her that she didn't understand what he said. Endearments were the same in any language, weren't they?
Jillian, heady with his touch, felt herself sway in Duncan's arms. When he slipped his hand beneath the silky nightgown, she heard herself make a sound that was born of relief and pleasure.
She felt her nipple grow taut beneath the caress of his callused thumb.
Jillian couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She knew she shouldn't be responding with such wantonness, but she couldn't help herself. Her blood was rushing hot in her veins, pooling in a heat between her thighs.
So this was desire. This was what women died and men fought for. It was for this searing lust that ancient treasures were lost and kingdoms seized.
Jillian rested her hands on Duncan's shoulders, leaning against him, marveling at the sensations he created. How was it that he knew instinctively how to touch her?
In the darkness, she looked up at him. This man was her husband. It occurred to her that she would live with him until death separated them, and yet she barely knew him. Hesitantly, she touched the veil that covered the left side of his face. "Duncan," she whispered.
"Jilly . . ."
He was not denying her. But what emotion did she hear in his voice? Pain? Fear?
"I can't see anything in this blackness," she whispered. "I just want to touch your face."
Jillian could feel his gaze intent on her as she slowly pushed back the veil. Did he wait for her to turn away in disgust? Did he really think she would care about the scars, no matter how severe they were?
His hand was still on her breast as she took the veil and let it flutter to the dusty floor. Then she brushed her palm against the cheek she had never seen.
With light fingertips, she explored his flesh. He was clean shaven. That did not surprise her. What did surprise her was that no matter how she searched, she could feel no scars.
But this was not the time to question Duncan. Somehow, here in the darkness, her husband had found a way to meet her halfway. Here in the blackness, he could cast out his demons and reach out to her as he had not been able to reach out to her before.
She let her hand slide down his face to rest on his muscular shoulder. She caressed the sinewy muscles in awe of his strength. "It's time," she told him, knowing her voice trembled with a blend of emotions. "Make me your wife."
His mouth met hers again, this time with all the pent-up passion of their relationship waylaid too long. Jillian barely realized they had moved, yet she found herself on the floor, exchanging kiss for kiss, trapped beneath Duncan's hard, warm body.
He was touching her now—her arms, her legs, her waist. Through the silk of the gown and robe, his fingers burned hot on her flesh.
When he parted the bodice of the sleeping gown and lowered his mouth to her breast, she arched her back, meeting him halfway. She heard herself moan aloud, fascinated by her own awakening desires. He was speaking softly to her, encouraging her. His voice surrounded her, enveloping her, just as his touch did. Her entire body was alive and pulsing with the feel of his hands, his mouth.
He tugged gently with his teeth on her hard, pink nipple, and she cried out in pleasure. When he slipped his hand over her flat belly to the apex between her thighs, she could think of nothing but the ache inside and her need to feel him there.
"Jilly, my sweet Jilly," he murmured. "I've wanted to touch you like this since that day in the garden. I had to have you. You had to be mine."
Jillian couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. Duncan slid his hand up beneath the hem of the gown and all she could do was tremble in anticipation of his touch, flesh to flesh.
As exquisite as his touch to her breasts had been, this was better. Without hesitation, she opened her thighs to him, craving the heat of his hand, the experience of his caress.
If I had known it would be like this, Jillian thought, her mind awhirl, I'd have bedded him that first night.
Duncan's caress must surely have been magic because, of its own accord, her body began to move to the rhythm of his hand. Jillian stroked his broad back, his face, the corded muscles of his shoulders. Vaguely she wondered what it would be like to touch him, but she was lost to the moment. She couldn't speak. She couldn't reason.
When Jillian felt Duncan shift his body, she made no protest. He released the buckle on his breeches and lowered himself over her, pressing his hard frame against her softer one. It was then that she felt his manhood thick and hot on her bare thigh.
Jillian must have stiffened, because suddenly his face loomed above hers in the darkness. He was kissing her, brief fleeting kisses that soothed and calmed.
"Just a little pain," he whispered, "then never again. I swear it, Jilly. Then only pleasure."
She nodded, letting her eyes drift shut again. Her mother had instructed her on coupling. She had said it might hurt, but it was a woman's duty to bear the pain. Why had she never said anything of the pleasure?
Duncan kissed her long and hard, their breath mingling. With one hand, he guided his shaft.
In a movement born of some natural instinct, Jillian opened up to him. There was moment of uncomfortableness, not even pain that she could define, and then he was inside her, hot and pulsing.
He brushed back the lock of damp hair that clung to her forehead. "Are you all right?" he whispered.
Jillian wrapped her arms around his neck, reveling in the feel of him inside her. "I'm fine," she whispered, smiling, touched by his thoughtfulness.
Then he began to move, and Jillian found herself in awe of the sensations he created. The pleasure came in waves, like those of the great ocean. Higher and higher the waves drew her, faster and faster.
Jillian found herself moving to meet Duncan's thrusts, panting, crying out with unabashed delight. Their bodies fit perfectly together, moving as one, moving toward some peak she knew not where.
Duncan's breath was now coming ragged in her ear. She clung to him, not knowing where he was taking her, only knowing that deep inside burned a desire only he could fulfill.
The end came with such force that it took Jillian's breath away. She rode the wave of pleasure on his stroke, and suddenly she felt as if she were thrust high into the sky. The pleasure burst into a thousand sparkling pieces, her body convulsing with its force.
A blink of an eyelash later, Jillian heard Duncan moan. He thrust one last time, hard and fast, and then lay still.
She found his weight over her comforting as she slowly drifted back to the reality of the dark attic and the dusty floor. Her body spent, Jillian now felt embarrassed. Was that really her own voice she had heard? Was that she, Jillian Elizabeth Hollingsworth Roderick, who had dug her fingernails into Duncan's back until she knew she must have left marks?
Jillian felt Duncan roll off her and onto his side, facing her. She kept her eyes screwed tightly shut, wishing she had something to hide her face with. She could still feel her heart pounding in her chest and her breath was still coming unevenly.
"You surprise me, wife," Duncan said after a moment.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, now mortally embarrassed. "I—I don't know what came over me."
He chuckled in the darkness, and she felt him lean over her and kiss her on the mouth. It was a husband's kiss. "You surprised me with your passion—pleasantly, I mean. Most women don't—" He searched for the right words. "—enjoy themselves so greatly their first time."
She opened her eyes, though she could see nothing of him but the shape of his face. "I—I was all right, then? Not too . . . loud or wanton?"
He laughed again, reaching out to draw her into his arms so that she could lay her head on his broad shoulder and curl up against him on the floor. Her gown and night rail were tangled around her waist, the front pulled open. Duncan wore his breeches somewhere down around his knees, but neither made a move to restore their clothing.
"You were definitely not too loud. You were perfect. A man likes to know if he's pleasing his woman."
His woman.
Jillian snuggled against Duncan, pleased with his remark. "I hadn't expected it to feel . . ." She sighed, giving up any modesty she might have once claimed to possess. "I hadn't realized it would feel so good, Duncan."
His laughter came again. Easy. Genuine. "I knew I would like you, Jilly. I knew the minute I spotted you chasing those goldfish in that pond—and you in nothing but your shift."
"That was a roguish thing you did. Spying on two ladies in their garden."
"And the best time I'd had all week." He pushed back a lock of her hair behind her ear and kissed her cheek. "I hate to say it, sweet, but perhaps we ought to rise and move to our bedchamber. Should a servant find the attic door open, I fear you'd be embarrassed."
Jillian sat up, pulling her gown and robe back over her shoulders. "Embarrassed? Why should I be embarrassed? I was but with my husband, seeing to a little autumn cleaning."
Chuckling at her comment, Duncan rose and buckled his breeches, then lowered his hand to lift her to her feet.
Jillian stared up at him, wishing desperately she could see his face, but not wanting to push the issue. Not tonight. So she stooped and picked up the puddle of silk at her feet she knew was his veil and handed it to him in silence. Then she turned her back on him and felt with her bare feet for her mules. When she had found them both and slipped them onto her feet, she turned back to her husband. Silhouetted in the darkness, she could see that he was wearing the veil.
Duncan put his arm out to her. "This way, my dear lady-wife."
She looped her arm through his. "Will you come to my chamber, Duncan? Will you sleep with me tonight in our room?" she asked softly.
There was no hesitation this time. "I will," he answered. Then he led her through the darkness.
Sometime in the middle of the night, Jillian woke to feel Duncan's hand on her breast, caressing her. Caught in that dreamy place between being asleep and awake, she gave herself to him, enjoying his lovemaking as much, if not more, than she had in the attic. And when both were spent from their passion, Duncan pulled her into his arms and she slept, her head pillowed on his hard, broad chest.
Jillian was disappointed in the morning when she awoke and found her husband gone. Yawning and stretching like a cat in the sunshine, she slid her bare feet over the side of the bed. She was shamelessly naked, her gown left near the door. Duncan had instructed her last night that wives didn't sleep in clothing. She had called him a liar, but allowed him to remove her gown just the same.
Jillian smiled at the memory, glancing at the case clock on the mantel.
Ten o'clock! God's eyeballs! She had never slept until ten in the morning in her life. No wonder Duncan was gone. He had to have left hours ago.
Jillian padded across the chilly floor to retrieve her gown and night rail. Duncan must have picked them up this morning and laid them over the chair. She dropped the gown over her head feeling terribly guilty. She should have risen with Duncan and broken the fast with him. She had wanted to get up with him this morning and start this first day as truly man and wife right. She had wanted to see his face in the light of the sun.
"Lazy chit," she murmured. Ten o'clock. The dowager and Beatrice must be worried.
A knock came at the door and Jillian slipped into her night rail to be more presentable. "Yes?"
"Your morning chocolate and biscuits, my lady. My lord ordered it be sent at ten," came the footman's voice through the closed door.
Jillian swept a handful of hair off her forehead, embarrassed to have a servant see her so disheveled. Surely he would know what she and Duncan had been up to.
But the thought of a cup of chocolate and a bit of bread was too tempting to turn away. She was near starved. "Come in," she called, walking away from the door.
She turned to look out the window as the servant entered and set the tray on the small table near the hearth. He added another log to the glowing coals. "Anything else, my lady?"
She parted the heavy drapes to look down into the garden below. "The dowager and Miss Beatrice, did they wait for me for breakfast?"
"No, my lady." The footman moved toward the door. "The dowager said not to set a place for you. She said you had had a late night and would sleep in."
Jillian knew her cheeks must have gone crimson. Was nothing a secret in this strange household? "That will be all, James."
"Yes, my lady." He bowed, and was gone, closing the door behind him.
Jillian walked to the table and poured herself a cup of the frothy, thick chocolate. As she sipped it, she spotted a note with her name scrawled across it on the tray. She recognized Duncan's handwriting immediately.
Setting down her china cup, she picked up the note with a smile.
Hope you slept well, lady-wife.
Will return by dust.
D
The note was simple—perhaps impersonal, at a glance, to a stranger—but Jillian was touched. She carefully refolded it, smoothing the seam, and clutched it to her bosom. A few short hours, and Duncan would come home to her. That was what he was saying. He was saying he couldn't wait to see her again. He was saying he cared for her. He was telling her everything was going to be all right.
Jillian reached for her cup of hot chocolate again. She had a noon meeting with the masons to discuss rebricking the southern wall. Then she'd see what Cook was preparing for the evening meal. Perhaps she'd have it brought upstairs so that she and Duncan could share an intimate supper. Perhaps they'd even eat it unclothed . . .
It was late afternoon, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen. Jillian was in Duncan's office, removing maps of the American Colonies from the walls, when she heard a horrendous crash. The sound was so loud
, and so forceful, that the walls shook.
"My God," Jillian cried, leaping off the chair she stood on. She raced for the door, knowing instinctively what must have happened. For weeks she's been warning the workmen to take care with the scaffolding on the staircase. It had seemed unstable to her. God help them, the thing had come down!
Her skirts bunched in her hands, Jillian ran down the seemingly endless hallway that led from the rear to the front of the house. She could hear men shouting sharp orders. A maid screamed.
Jillian came around the corner into the front hall so fast that she slid on the newly polished marble floor. She parted the canvas drop cloth that protected the fresh paint from the rest of the dusty house. "What is it? What's happened?"
The hallway was crowded with ruddy-faced workers and assorted house servants. Even the gardener had beaten Jillian to the front hall. One of Daphne's footmen stepped forward. "The scaffolding on the stairs, my lady. It's all come down."
"Who was there? Who's hurt?" she demanded, running through the hall, forcing the footman to race after her. "Were there workmen? Has someone been injured?"
"Aye, there's someone beneath it, they say."
The tone in his voice made Jillian swing around, confused by the tone in his voice. "Who, for God's sake?"
"The earl, my lady . . ."
Eleven
Jillian reached the staircase in a split second. "Duncan! Duncan!" she screamed, terrified at the thought of becoming a widow, terrified at the thought of losing Duncan before she ever knew him.
She halted at the bottom of the staircase. What she saw turned her blood cold. The entire wooden scaffold, reaching two stories into the stairwell, had collapsed in a pile of timbers. Clouds of sawdust still rose in the air, choking the workmen.
Surely no one could survive beneath the weight of the timber, she thought in a brief instant of pain.
Several of the workman had already begun to drag pieces of the scaffold down the steps. Instinctively, Jillian reached out to move the nearest wooden girder. The raw, salt-treated timber was unbelievably heavy, but Jillian didn't care. All she could think was that Duncan lay somewhere beneath the weight of wood and nails, struggling to breathe.
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 11
