There was nothing she could do. She had been utterly beggared before him. Her shame was complete.
Quite without realizing it, she raised her chin and looked at him directly. “Whatever the state of my health, it is of no concern to you, Lord Marblethorpe.”
His mouth lifted a little. Warmth grew in his eyes. “You are courageous when the chips are down, aren’t you? I knew that of course, only you remind me at every turn.”
He was standing far too close to her for comfort. There was still a polite two feet between his boots and her hems, yet Natasha fancied she could feel the warmth of his body from where she stood.
She tore her attention away from his physicality. “You should not be speaking to me in this way.”
“No, I shouldn’t. Only, you should not have looked at me the way you did at Henley, either. It is as well you turned away when you did, lest someone other than me recognize the thoughts that prompted the look.” He stepped back. “Come and sit down. Let Corcoran and the staff see you having a perfectly civilized conversation.”
His caution, his sensitivity toward appearances, was reassuring. It let her move to the pair of Chesterfield chairs. She took the chair with its back to the door.
Raymond sat on the edge of the other, his knee almost brushing the edge of the chess table. He didn’t speak, but studied her openly and for such a long time, she had to look away.
“Three nights of no sleep and still you outshine every girl, woman and lady in London,” he said softly.
“You should not be saying such things.”
“I should not speak the truth?”
“Don’t twist what I say.”
“You do not appreciate a fine parry of words, then?”
“I prefer plain speaking.” Seth had always cut directly to the core of anything.
“You always have,” Raymond agreed. “All those society Romeos trying to breathe down one’s bodice would have soured any woman. I imagine the rhetoric you have been forced to sift through has been legion.”
“I am…I was a married woman. Men did not paw me.”
“Not when Seth was alive, no. You really are lost without him, aren’t you?”
Natasha met his gaze, startled. “Why are we talking about Seth? I thought you wished to speak of…” She pressed her lips together. Why was she forcing the conversation back to Henley? It was the last thing she wanted to discuss.
“We speak of Seth because he is the reason you’ve laid in your bed for three days, writhing with guilt over a perfectly natural function of womanhood.”
Natasha pulled her wrapper closer about her. “It was an unfortunate moment. It won’t happen again.”
He didn’t respond. His dark-eyed gaze remained steady, as if he was casting about for an answer. Or observing her in disbelief.
Natasha shifted on the chair. “You insisted upon speaking about this, Raymond. Because of my behavior I am forced to endure the conversation. I would ask you to hurry up and complete it so I can return to my bed.”
“This is the first time you’ve experienced any sort of arousal with a man other than Seth,” he said, his tone one of amazement. He spoke softly, as if he was conversing with himself.
Natasha closed her eyes. She had thought she had reached the utter depths of her humiliation a few moments ago. Now she knew she was wrong.
“Natasha, look at me.”
She could not sit there with her eyes closed forever. Sooner or later, she would have to look at him. She ground her teeth together, drew in a breath and opened her eyes.
He was not smiling. He was not leering at her for her lack of modesty, either. He was just sitting there.
“You are dear friends with Aunt Annalies,” he said. “You should ask her to explain to you her theory on female sexuality. You might find it reassuring.”
Natasha winced. “Is nothing beyond the bounds of polite conversation to you?”
“Oh, this is far beyond polite conversation,” Raymond assured her. “We are family, remember? We can do as we please so long as no outsiders are made aware of our private activities. If you were a maiden at a ball, my conversation would be so chaste your mother would beam approval. You are not a maiden, though, and I have never been interested in whispering sweet nothings in a debutante’s shell-like ear. Innocence may be virtuous, yet it is also utterly vapid.”
“You and every man with red blood feels that way, I wager,” Natasha said. Her mouth fell open in surprise. Why had she said that?
Raymond merely smiled appreciation. “There. I knew you would fire back sooner or later.”
“You want me to challenge you?” she asked, bewildered.
“I want you to be yourself,” he said swiftly. “Not repressed by artificial morals that make you miserable and sick with guilt.”
“Then…you do not think less of me?”
“How could I? My eyes were opened by that moment, too.”
“They were?” She examined his face, to see if he was lying. His expression did not shift nor his eyes cut away from her.
Then she realized what he was implying. “You mean you…too?”
He was sitting quite still and did not move at her question, yet it seemed to her he did grow more alert. More…tense. Her heart had been slowing and calming. Now it raced again.
“You say you prefer frankness. Let us speak frankly then and dispense with this conversation you find so uncomfortable,” he said, his voice low.
Natasha wasn’t sure she wanted plain truth now. Although she had stated she did and usually, yes, she preferred unadorned truth to the veiled misdirection and coy vagueness that peppered most polite conversations. She nodded. Laying out unvarnished fact would at least end this quickly.
Raymond leaned forward and dropped his voice so there was absolutely no chance of anyone standing by the door hearing him. “I am sure you tire of people telling you how beautiful you are, yet you have not fully absorbed what that means. A dozen pretty faces can be found at any soiree. Yours is a greater beauty than that. Time does not touch it and every man is moved by it…and not just to spout odes in acknowledgement. Yours is the beauty that drives men to drink, to duel over your favors and to dream of what it may be like to have you not just in their arms, but in their bed.”
Natasha swallowed. “Raymond…”
“I am a man,” Raymond said. “Yes, your beauty stirs me, too. More than that, when I realized at Henley you were not indifferent to me…” He let out a heavy breath. “You are not alone in losing sleep, Natasha.”
Her heart actually stopped. For a moment, she felt weightless, as she might in a dream. The flesh between her thighs throbbed.
His words formed an image in her mind, of a big man’s heated body against hers. It wasn’t an image from a gentle romance, where a chaste kiss on the wrist was the epitome of love. No, it was an earthy, raw image. The man was naked and she could feel his excitement held against her and she welcomed it and wanted more.
That big man was Raymond.
Natasha let out a breath that shook. “You…” She cleared her throat. “You would propose we indulge in these animal instincts, then?”
“No.”
Disappointment touched her. Then confusion. How could she be disappointed?
Raymond’s gaze was drilling into hers, not letting her go. He could likely see her every thought, just as he seemed to have plucked all her thoughts and feelings from her at Henley. “I propose that for now, you simply acknowledge that you have them. You champion the truth, you say. Then be truthful to yourself. Or tell me you felt nothing at Henley and I will leave right now and never speak more than polite nothings to you ever again.”
It would be so simple to say she felt nothing. It would remove him from her house and her life. Only…
Even these few moments of sharing private thoughts with a man had brought back to her the warmth and intimacy of her time with Seth. She had thought she missed Seth. Now she realized how much more she had lost. They had been closest
friends as well as lovers and spouses. Natasha had hidden nothing of herself from him. Seth had known her every petty thought, her dreams and wishes, hopes and fantasies and had accepted them completely and unconditionally. Even her flaws and human weaknesses had merely been what he called the leavening in her soul. She missed that complete acceptance. She missed conversations where she did not have to mind her tongue or apologize for her thoughts.
And she missed being held.
She sheared away from that whispering yearning.
“Natasha?” Raymond prompted her.
Natasha looked at him. “Frankness, you said?”
“Yes,” he said flatly.
“I would acknowledge Henley,” she said, “except that I am afraid of where it will lead us. I do not know what is in your thoughts, Raymond, but there can never been anything between us. You know that, don’t you? Society would crucify us. Your mother would…would at the very least destroy our friendship and that I count as a higher cost.”
“Are you sure those things would happen?” Raymond asked softly. There was a challenging note in his voice.
She skirted the question. “If I say yes, what do you intend to do?”
“Nothing that you do not want me to do.”
It was not a reassuring answer.
“If you say no, Natasha, even if you lie to say it, then I will understand,” he said quietly. “It is completely your decision.” His black eyes glowed with a held-back heat. “What do you want?”
She twined her fingers and squeezed hard. “I want…” She cleared her throat again. Truth, she reminded herself. It had been so long since she had been free to speak unadorned truth!
“I want us to be friends,” she said slowly. “I have not had a friend…not a…a male friend, since Seth died and I miss that companionship terribly. Only…”
“Nothing more?” he finished.
She shook her head, frustrated. “Oh, this is so very awkward. I am conflicted, Raymond.” She touched her fingers to her chest. “I would speak the truth if I did not fear the complications that come with it. The sort of friendship I would prefer would let me speak that truth without fear. Yet it would not compromise my position, either.” She dropped her hand. “I do not think such a friend could exist. It would be asking too much of any man. It would not be fair.”
Raymond’s gaze wouldn’t let her go. “Ask it of me.”
Her heart actually hurt, it beat so hard. It seemed to leap in her chest. “Would you…could you be that sort of friend, Raymond?” Her lips seemed thick and uncooperative.
“I will be whatever friend you want me to be and consider it the greatest of privileges.” Still he did not move. The tension that held him seemed to increase.
“Then yes,” Natasha told him. “I was moved by the sight of you, at Henley.”
He let out a gusty sigh and sat back, relaxing all at once. “And…?” he prompted, his brow lifting.
“…and I have not slept since,” she added. “For fear you would think me a whore for enjoying such a sight and take advantage of it.”
“Yet here I sit, clearly not disgusted or lecherous.”
“Not even by my brazen language,” she added. She could feel her mouth trying to tug into a smile.
“There is a freedom in being able to call a whore a whore and a spade a spade,” he confessed.
The impulse to smile, or even laugh faded. “No one can know about this, Raymond,” she added. “Even within the family, they would be shocked. Your mother…” She hesitated, fear blooming.
“I think you underestimate my mother. However, this is your friendship, to shape as you see fit.” He got to his feet. “It is pleasing to me that you feel comfortable enough to show me your real self.”
“You’re leaving?” she asked, startled.
“Yes.”
“But…” She bit her lip, confused.
He stopped by her chair and looked down at her. “Did you think that once I had secured your confession, I would press myself upon you? Force you to extend the boundaries of the friendship by seduction?”
“Yes,” she said flatly. “That is what men do,” she added.
He glanced toward the door, checking for observers, then crouched down next to the chair. It put his head level with hers. This close, she could see the thickness of his black lashes and the scar on his chin. She could even detect his scent, mixed up with the heat of his body, which washed over her like a wave. He smelled different from the way she remembered Seth’s scent. That was to be expected, yet it was also reassuring. She didn’t want him to be the same in any way.
She wondered if he would kiss her and how she could stop him if he tried.
“You think I want to kiss you, yes?” he said softly.
She nodded.
“I do, only not badly enough to ruin your good opinion of me.” Instead, he reached over and very gently brushed a strand of loose hair from her forehead. His fingers barely grazed her flesh, yet she shivered at the touch. “You are too muddied by exhaustion to be thinking very clearly at all. When you have rested, we can talk more, if you wish. I suspect you will sleep very well, now.”
She thought so, too. She could already feel the bone-deep weariness settling in. “When will I see you again?”
“Whenever you want.” He got to his feet. His smile was small and warm. “It is nine in the morning, but I would wish you a good night.”
She smiled. “Good night, Raymond.”
Natasha listened to him move out into the front hall, intending to get up and return upstairs herself. It was the last thought she had until Mulloy woke her some indeterminate time later and helped her walk sleepily upstairs.
She didn’t wake again until the next morning.
Chapter Five
The day after the Henley incident, Morven, Lady Tachbrook, had sent Natasha an invitation to visit her at home. Natasha had promptly declined.
The day after sleeping almost around the clock, though, another beautifully scribed missive sat among Natasha’s morning letters. Morven would be at home again, this afternoon.
Natasha frowned at the page as she ate a generous breakfast, trying to decide how to deal with the insistent woman. A second invitation after a first refusal was perfectly acceptable. If Natasha turned down this second invitation, though, it would be sending a clear signal that she did not want to associate with Morven on a social level. Yet, Natasha had allowed the woman to write to her. If she refused a second time, it would make her dishonest.
True, she had agreed to Morven contacting her while under the strain of other matters…
Natasha realized what she was doing, even in her own thoughts and corrected it, her cheeks warming, just while sitting alone at the table. When Morven had asked if she could write, Natasha had been fuzzy and bemused by the sight of Raymond’s damp and nearly nude body. It was the truth, only it was not an excuse she could use to get out of this, therefore she must suffer through at least one social engagement with Morven Fortescue, before declining any more invitations.
Morven was living in a hotel on Duke Street, not far from where Rhys had once lived as a bachelor. The establishment was high-class, with a flawless reputation. As a temporary accommodation, it would not sully a widow’s reputation to be seen there, although she did wonder why Morven would not stay with friends, if she did not have a townhouse of her own in London.
Morven answered the question when they settled into the private loungeroom, even though Natasha had not asked directly. “My accommodations must seem odd to you, as you have such an extended family and friends. I told you I had lived an isolated life in Scotland for many years. Friendships withered as a result and I have no family to call upon. Neither did my husband. The title died with him.” She smiled softly. “I considered purchasing a townhouse, only I am so rarely in London that the expense does not justify itself.” She rested her hand against the teapot, checking the heat.
“Then you are returning to Scotland soon?” Natasha asked pol
itely.
“I never intended to stay for the Season,” Morven confessed. “Such frivolities are not for me.”
“Your charity work is your only interest?”
“For a very long time, I did not have even that,” Morven said, pouring two cups of tea. She handed one to Natasha. “It can be unbearable when one’s husband dies. It took a great deal of time for my interest in life to return. Your awakening was much faster than mine.” She smiled.
Natasha’s innards jumped. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said stiffly.
Morven sipped. “I do not believe anyone else noticed how closely you watched Lord Marblethorpe at Henley. I deflected your interest quickly enough the gossips may not have had time to turn away from the delectable sight of men in wet clothing.” She smiled and her smile was full of mischief. “I rather think the experience of lusting after a man is new to you, since your husband passed. Yes?”
Natasha stared at her. She could think of nothing to say. Shock and horror curled through her. She realized she was holding her teacup in midair and put it back on the saucer with an unsteady hand. “I…er…”
“Will you be pursuing your interest, Lady Innesford? I ask not from a prurient view point, but because I would be happy to help, if that is your intent.”
Natasha’s horror grew. “No!” she said, her voice strangled and weak. “I could not possibly… Pursue?” she repeated, the implications behind the word impacted all over again. “You make it sound as if…as if…” She shook her head.
Morven put her cup down. She was smiling. “Oh dear,” she said, sounding not at all distressed. “You are rather innocent, despite marriage and…how many children have you?”
“Seven,” Natasha said automatically, staring at the woman. Her mind was exploding with all sorts of strange ideas and realizations. “Have you…extended your help to other…women?”
“Ladies, all of them,” Morven said gently. “Not many, no. There are few who are honest enough about their thoughts and feelings to encompass more sophisticated forms of pleasure.”
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