Seduced By His Touch

by Tracy Anne Warren

But he’d told himself he would give her a few days to adjust to their changed circumstances. She might not like him very much at the moment, but she was still his wife. He was hoping that if he gave her a bit of space, she would come to terms with that fact and try to make their marriage work despite all her talk of separation.

  And if she didn’t?

  Well, he would deal with that later. Who knows, maybe he would be relieved by an amicable split a few months from now. In the past, he’d always tired of his lovers, no matter how beautiful or adept in bed they might be. So why should Grace be any different?

  She won’t, he realized with an odd sense of sadness. It’s simply a matter of time until this hunger for her fades. But until it did, he wanted her. And he meant to have her again. All he needed to do was let time and desire weave its spell, and she would be back in his arms.

  I seduced her once. I can seduce her again.

  Only this time there would be no lies between them and nothing to hide, no need for pretence or artifice of any kind. When they made love again, they would come together out of naked desire—and find pure, sizzling ecstasy along the way.

  Until then, however, he was in for some very long, very frustrating nights.

  Releasing her long strand of hair, he gazed at her recumbent form for a few moments more. Jaw clenched and groin aching in abject misery, he turned his back on her and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 19

  Jack was gone when she awakened the next morning.

  Apparently he’d been telling the truth when he’d said that all he’d wanted to do was sleep and nothing else. Honestly, she should be grateful for his lack of interest, and for the fact that he’d obviously had no difficulty forgoing the exercise of his husbandly rights with his new bride on their wedding night.

  Not that she would have let him exercise those rights, but still, he might have tried a little harder.

  Knowing that he hadn’t, merely demonstrated that she’d been right about his calculating motivations. Nevertheless, the knowledge came as cold comfort. It was one thing to suspect he cared for nothing but her money. It was quite another to know for sure. With her chest tight, she tossed back the covers and rang for her maid.

  An hour later, she descended the stairs dressed in a warm cerise kerseymere day dress that ought to have clashed with her hair but amazingly enough did not. The gown had been a suggestion of her new mother-in-law, who had an eye for such daring fashion choices.

  With a newspaper folded open beside his nearly empty plate, Jack glanced up from his seat at the dining table when she entered the room. “Good morning,” he said in an even tone.

  Unable to bring herself to return the greeting verbally, she gave a brief nod, then moved to the sideboard, where a pair of silver chafing dishes were arranged.

  While she helped herself to a slice of toast and a single, coddled egg, Jack returned to reading his paper. He looked up again when she took a seat at the far end of the table.

  “Is that all you’re having?” he asked, his blue eyes looking critically at her selection.

  Taking up her fork, she thrust the tines into her egg with a defiant stab, letting the warm, orange yolk run over the bread. “It is. Yes.”

  He stared for another moment, then turned a page of his paper.

  A maid entered the room with a fresh pot of tea. After pouring a cup for Grace and refreshing Jack’s, the girl left the pot on the table, then departed once more.

  Silence descended.

  Jack sipped his tea and read his paper, while she applied herself to her breakfast.

  “Is there anything you’d like to do today?” he inquired after she ate the last bite.

  With him, does he mean? A little frown creased the skin between her brows. “No.”

  He met her gaze for a few seconds. “Fine. I’ll be in the library, then. Reading.” Draining the last of the tea from his cup, he stood and walked from the room.

  Her shoulders sank the instant he was gone, misery sweeping through her like a cold wind. And cold was certainly right, she decided. The atmosphere between them was as frosty as the January day outside. How would she ever bear living with him like this for the next four weeks?

  With half-hearted enthusiasm, she went upstairs to retrieve a few sheets of sketch paper, then quickly returned back downstairs again. Inside the parlour, she took a seat in front of the window and attempted a pencil rendering of the winter-shrouded grounds and attractive outbuildings. The results were so dismal, however, that she ended up tossing them all into the fireplace, where the flames turned the evidence to ash.

  Returning to the bedroom, she tried next to take a nap but managed no more than a fitful, unsatisfying doze. Ringing for her maid, she bathed, then dressed in another of the new gowns from her trousseau—a watered peach satin that made a sibilant whispering sound as she moved.

  Since they were keeping country hours, dinner was served early. Taking a seat across from Jack in the dining room, they ate in near silence, neither of them making more than a few attempts at conversation. Once the meal was over, he withdrew again to the library.

  Then it was time for bed.

  Her maid helped her into her nightgown and robe before withdrawing for the evening. Briefly, Grace considered taking a blanket and pillow and going downstairs to sleep on the sofa. But knowing Jack, he would probably just make her return upstairs as soon as he realized she was missing.

  Still, something inside her rebelled at the notion of climbing meekly into bed while she waited for him to join her—even if all he wanted to do was sleep! Taking a book to keep herself entertained, she padded across to the large armchair positioned near the fireplace and settled inside.

  She roused a long while later to the sensation of his arms coming around her, the fire burned so low the room was cast in heavy, nearly black shadows.

  “Hush,” he murmured in his deep, divine voice. “I’m just going to carry you over to the bed.”

  “…sleep here in the chair,” she mumbled.

  “Sleep in this chair and you’ll wake up with a sore neck.”

  Too tired to protest further, she let him gather her into his strong arms. Moments later, cool sheets and downy soft feathers enveloped her as she sank onto the mattress. Covers were pulled up around her, his big hands tucking her in tight so that warmth spread through her body with a toasty bliss.

  She was floating on the edge of sleep when his fingers brushed her cheek and combed the hair away from her face. She sighed in contentment, vaguely aware as his lips pressed lightly against her own. And then she knew nothing else.

  Again, he was gone when she awakened, early morning light creeping gently beneath the curtains. If not for the rumpled bedclothes and the imprint of his head on his pillow, she wouldn’t have thought he’d slept next to her at all.

  She questioned her assumption again when she descended for breakfast and found him as quiet and reserved as he’d been the day before. And yet she knew she’d fallen asleep in the armchair, so it couldn’t have been a dream. Could it? Touching her fingers to her lips, she wondered which parts were real and which ones were not.

  The day continued much as the one before, with Jack disappearing into the library for hours, while she occupied herself alone—first embroidering and then reading. They met for dinner, their conversation confined to casual small talk and observations about the meal.

  Then bedtime arrived once more.

  Stubbornly, she sought out the armchair again, where she sat reading until her fingers grew limp on the pages and her eyelids too heavy to remain open. She dreamed of him carrying her to bed and kissing her as he settled her between the sheets.

  But exactly as before, he was gone come morning.

  And so it went for the next three days, each one slower and more tedious than the last.

  Pouring himself a brandy, Jack paced inside the night-darkened library and wondered how much more waiting he could take.

  After nearly a week, h
e’d hoped Grace would relent and show signs of wanting to end the stalemate between them. To his increasing frustration, however, she appeared completely content with the situation, apparently happy as she engaged in the solitary activities with which she occupied herself each day.

  As for himself, he’d read a lot of books, but not nearly as many as she must think. Instead, he spent most of each afternoon in the library, sleeping—often exhausted after spending a restless night lying next to her in bed, his body aroused to the point of near pain.

  He supposed he was a fool not to simply take her as he wished. But even knowing he was capable of rousing her natural passions to the fore, he didn’t want her accusing him of taking advantage of her when her defences were down. No, he’d promised to give her time. It’s just that he wasn’t sure how much more time he could grant her.

  Tossing back in a single gulp the brandy he’d poured, he set down the glass and strode out of the library. Opening the bedroom door across the hall, he slipped into the darkened room on silent feet. As he had every night before, he expected to find Grace curled up in the armchair in front of the fire. But for once the chair was empty and she was asleep in their bed.

  His stomach tightened in surprise, even as his shaft stiffened with approval. Walking close, he stopped and gazed down at her.

  How lovely she was, her fair skin flushed from sleep, her fiery hair tousled around her head. She slept deeply on her side, her lips relaxed and slightly open, as though she was waiting to be kissed.

  And perhaps she is, he mused.

  With his throat already bare from having removed his cravat earlier, he reached for his shirt and pulled it off over his head. Slipping out of his shoes and trousers, he left them where they fell, then crawled between the sheets.

  Sliding near, he wrapped his arms around Grace so that he was settled behind her, his knees tucked in close to hers. Letting his hand rest where it seemed most natural, he cupped one full, luscious breast in his palm. His eyes closed in acute pleasure.

  He sucked in a harsh breath as she shifted against him in her slumber, her bottom rubbing briefly against his throbbing shaft. Good thing he’d left on his drawers, or else he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from opening her thighs and thrusting into her right then and there.

  Instead he kept a tight leash on his needs, willing himself to do nothing more than hold her for the present. He would let her decide what came next. If she awakened, he would make love to her. If she didn’t, he would let her sleep.

  For now.

  Grace came slowly awake, cradled in a blissful cocoon of warmth and relaxation. Sighing contentedly, she snuggled closer to the wondrous source of heat, pressing her face more fully into the pillow beneath her cheek. Strangely enough, though, the goose feathers didn’t dip but remained smooth and firm in a way that wasn’t pillow like at all.

  Her nose twitched as something soft tickled it. Reaching up, she rubbed the itch, then settled back. As she did, she became aware of two things at once—that the solid warmth beneath her thigh was shaped a great deal like a leg, and that her pillow was breathing.

  Her sleepiness fell away, her eyes opening to find a shadowy, dawn light just beginning to filter into the room. She leaned upright—or at least she tried to lean upright—but found herself unable to move more than a single inch due to the long, muscular, male arm draped across her shoulders.

  Tipping back her head, she encountered Jack’s heavy-lidded, blue-eyed gaze.

  Shock radiated through her in an electrical tingle as she realized that he was awake and watching her. Even worse was the fact that the two of them were literally entwined, her breasts and stomach pressed against his side, while one of her legs rode his thigh, her calf trapped beneath his own hair-roughened one. As for her nightgown, the material had ridden up so that the hem barely covered her naked bottom.

  Somehow, without her awareness, she’d obviously sought him out during the night, curling around him like a vine while she’d slumbered. Mortified, she tried to pull away. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…that is, I didn’t mean to…to…”

  “Sleep on me?” he drawled, his words slow and husky.

  Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. She nodded instead.

  “Don’t worry.” He smiled. “You make a very nice blanket.”

  Shifting again, she waited for him to release her.

  Instead, he kept his arm looped over her shoulders. “Go back to sleep. It’s barely dawn.”

  Sleep? There was no possible way she could sleep now, even if it was too early to begin the day. “I…I’m not tired.”

  “Are you not?” His palm settled on the back of her bare thigh and stroked in an easy circle. “I’m not either.”

  Her pulse pounded in a heavy rhythm. “You should let me go.”

  “Should I?” His hand moved higher, fingers gliding just under the edge of her nightgown. “Are you sure?”

  For a long moment she couldn’t answer, a lassitude stealing through her that made it hard to remember exactly why it was wrong for her to lie here with him like this. “Y-yes.”

  “You don’t sound terribly sure. Maybe you need to reconsider.”

  Spearing the fingers of his other hand into her hair, he held her steady as he used gentle pressure to lower her head and claim her mouth. With a finesse that made her shiver, he parted her lips and eased his tongue inside. Hot, wet, and silky, he led her into a realm of dark temptation, as he ravished her mouth with a lazy thoroughness that sent her thoughts spinning out of control. Enthralled, she could do nothing but hold on, helpless against the stunning bliss of his touch. Then his palm slid higher to caress her naked bottom.

  On a breathless gasp, she tore herself away. “Stop.”

  “Stop what?” His words were slurred with passion.

  “This. Now l-let me go.”

  “Why?”

  She stared at him for a long moment. “You know why.”

  “Actually, I don’t,” he said in a reflective tone. “Since I know you used to enjoy”—he gave her buttocks a very light squeeze and smiled—“this.”

  “That was before,” she admonished, pressing her palms against his chest in an effort to break away.

  Stronger by far, he kept her easily anchored in place. “Ah, yes. Before. Then again, given the fact that we are married now, it seems to me we’re free to do anything we like in this bed.”

  “Anything you like, you mean,” she retorted. “I told you not to touch me, and I haven’t changed my mind. You got what you wanted the day we wed. I refuse to be your plaything again simply because you’ve decided you’re randy and I’m convenient.”

  “Convenient! Is that what you are?” He let out a hollow laugh. “It seems to me you’ve been deuced inconvenient, madam. I’d have gotten as much satisfaction from squeezing a stone as I’ve had from you this past week.”

  Her mouth thinned. “I don’t know why you’re complaining. It’s not as if you really want me. Any female would do.”

  He arched a brow. “Is that right? Then I guess I’ve been denying myself for nothing. By your measure, I should have ridden into the village and availed myself of one of the local girls by now. I’m sure there must be one or two willing to service me. Maybe I ought to go now and see if I can find a milkmaid who wouldn’t mind providing an extra bit of cream with her morning chores.”

  She restrained a gasp at his deliberate crudeness, her chest aching at the idea of him with another woman. “Yes, perhaps you should.” Refusing to lower her gaze, she waited for him to set her aside and leave.

  Instead, he kept her locked in his arms. “Unfortunately, I don’t want a milkmaid, or any other woman. I want you.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said with patent scepticism.

  “Do I not?” He drew his palm over the curve of her bottom, then along the top half of her thigh.

  She trembled but held herself resolute against him. “Attraction isn’t the reason you pursued me. I
f not for the debt you owed my father, you would never have sought me out. You would never have given me so much as an extra glance.”

  His gaze turned rueful, but he didn’t look away. “It’s true that I might not have sought you out, but I would definitely have given you more than one look. From our very first meeting that day at Hatchard’s, I knew I had to have you. I desired you, Grace, and my interest was never feigned. I tried to tell you as much before, but you wouldn’t listen.”

  No, she hadn’t been much for listening then, not after she’d learned the truth about everything. Nor had she been inclined to believe a great deal of what he’d had to say since then. And yet, against her better judgment, she did think he was being sincere now. Even so, could she afford to trust him? Or was this just another one of his devious games?

  “We’ll be living together for the next few months while we act like contented newlyweds,” he continued. “Given that, things are likely to get awfully wearisome if we’re constantly at daggers drawn. Why not make the best of the situation and call a truce?”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “You want a truce, do you?”

  “Yes. Most particularly in the bedroom.” His fingers inched toward the small of her back, pausing to draw clever little circles over a spot where she was extremely sensitive.

  Damn him for knowing about that spot, she thought as she arched involuntarily beneath his touch. Her heart hammered, tell-tale moisture gathering between her thighs.

  “It’s not as if we’d be breaking any rules,” he pointed out with husky persuasion. “Quite the contrary, in fact, since our union is sanctioned by the laws of both God and man. So why deny ourselves? Why not enjoy what pleasure we can find?”

  She stared at him, considering. “So, you want to be lovers?”

  His blue eyes darkened. “Don’t you?”

  A shiver went through her at the idea. To her chagrin, she realized that she was tempted. “For how long?”

  One brow arched upward. “For as long as the arrangement suits us both.”