by Lavinia Kent
Placing the delicate cup back on the saucer, Kathryn looked about the room trying to decide if she should stay and wait longer to see if Robert arrived home. Normally he told her if he was going to be late and he hadn’t tonight. Missing dinner was the only thing he’d mentioned.
She couldn’t wait until the Season started in a few weeks. Sitting and waiting was not something she was good at. Her nerves were stretched tighter than a kite string. If she wasn’t careful, she would snap.
How was she ever going to seduce her husband? Even the thought had her shivering—and only partly with pleasure. She closed her eyes and imagined him entering the room, imagined standing and walking toward him, imagined her shoulders pulled back, her breasts pressed tight against her dress. She would step forward slowly, letting her hips sway. Stopping just before she reached him she’d . . .
She didn’t know what she’d do.
Robert’s brandy sat in a decanter at the corner of the table near her elbow, a selection of glassware about it. She’d never had more than a sip, and that medicinally. Now, however, the thought of a full glass drew her.
With hands that shook only slightly she grasped the decanter and poured. The first swallow burned, the second warmed, the third soothed. Sipping from the glass, she reclined in her seat and began imagining again. . . .
She would step forward slowly, letting her hips sway. Stopping just before she reached him, she’d tilt her lips up, lean a little forward . . .
Her mind stopped again. She could get so close, could feel his breath in her hair and then—she just didn’t know. She should have asked Linnette more questions.
Did she kiss him? Was that too forward? Might he be disgusted by unladylike behavior?
Why hadn’t she ever tried anything before?
Another large swallow of brandy—and another.
Yes, she would kiss him, would feel the bristles on his chin beneath her lips, would taste the salt of his skin, inhale the deep musk of his scent. Her lips would move over the curves of his cheeks, edging ever closer to his mouth. She’d know he wanted her kiss and she’d wait, she’d tease, she’d . . .
Well, that was better. She’d made it much further before becoming flummoxed.
Downing the rest of the glass, she poured another.
Now she could imagine her fingers tangled in his hair, the soft dark waves velvet beneath her touch. She’d pull his head closer, feel the heat of his breath beneath her chin—lower. She’d slip her hands down, pull at his cravat, letting her fingers feel the strength of his neck—her lips following . . .
“I’ve never seen you drink brandy before.” Robert’s voice sounded from the door.
Her gaze rose, taking in his rumpled attire, his broad shoulders and lean hips—and those lips. Her eyes slowly moved up until they locked on his mouth, the mouth she’d just been dreaming about, imagining. His lips were firmer in reality, but fuller too. So inviting . . .
“How many glasses have you had? I’ve never seen quite that look upon your face.” He stepped into the room, moved toward her, his own gaze intent upon her face.
“This is only my second. I haven’t quite decided if I like it.” She took another sip, her lips curving about the now warm glass, her tongue darting out to taste.
His whole focus seemed to sharpen. She wasn’t sure he saw anything except the tiny spot where her mouth and the brandy met. She dipped her tongue in again.
He chest rose and fell quite noticeably. Why had she never considered his response to her actions before?
She licked the rim.
He took two steps forward.
Lowering the glass, she ran her tongue about her lips, tasting for each remaining bit of heat. “I think I may be beginning to like it quite a bit. How would you feel about having a wife with a penchant for brandy?”
His gaze rose, his eyes full of heat and intensity. “I think I could become accustomed to it.”
Oh dear. She swallowed, took a quick gulp of brandy. A part of her wanted to flee, a part of her wanted to welcome him into her arms—most of her didn’t know what to do. She stared up at him, unsure.
Watched him take another step forward.
“You’re home earlier than usual tonight.” Did her voice shake? She knew her hands were.
“I didn’t say I’d be particularly late—just that I wouldn’t attend dinner.”
“No, you didn’t.” Yes, her voice was definitely not steady. Her gaze dropped to her hands and she pulled it back up. She would not back down now.
“How was tea this afternoon?” He moved so only an arm’s length remained between them.
She could feel the heat of his body, sense his movement in the air. “Tea?”
“You did meet with Tattingstong’s wife, did you not?”
“Oh yes, of course.” How could he be thinking at all when the air sizzled between them? She felt her own breaths grow shallow.
“And how did you find her?” He reached out and traced a curl that brushed her cheek.
“Quite lovely, actually.” It felt like all the breath had been sucked from her chest.
“I am glad. He deserves a good wife.”
Something in his tone caught her, said so much more than the words. “Don’t all men deserve a good wife?” She clasped his hand between hers and rose to standing.
“I would imagine that there are many men who most definitely do not deserve a good wife,” he replied.
She pulled his hand to her lips, breathing deeply against it.
He continued, “I always thought I deserved one. This last year or more I have not been so sure.”
She placed a soft kiss against his fingertips. “I am quite sure you deserve a good wife.”
“Even after . . .” He hesitated and she was not sure what he meant to say.
She waited—not wanting to risk a mistake. This moment was too important.
Instead of saying more he opened his hand and stroked her cheek softly. “And you, my dear duchess, do you deserve a good husband?”
“I try to.” She stared straight into his eyes. “I am not always sure I succeed.”
“Isn’t that for me to judge?” His gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, almost tangible, an invisible caress.
Should she kiss him? Every ounce of her wanted to lean up on her toes and lay her lips against his, to feel the firm movement of his mouth. It would be so easy.
Her feet started to lift, but she hesitated. What if she did it wrong?
There had been that one wonderful kiss right after their engagement and a few more after the wedding, only Robert had always led. But tonight was about her seducing him.
She reached up, her whole focus on his mouth, his wonderful delectable mouth. She grew almost dizzy as she moved toward her desire.
She swayed.
He caught her.
“How many brandies did you say you’d had?” he asked.
“Only two—but there was wine with dinner.”
“And how many glasses did you partake in?”
“Your mother and grandmother were both present for the meal.”
“Ahh, so more than you should have.” He laid a hand on each of her shoulders. “Was my mother very difficult?”
“No more than usual.”
“So yes, she was. I am sorry. I should not be leaving her to you. It is just that I have been so busy.” He did not look at all repentant.
“She does seem to want to discuss something with you. She keeps asking when you will be joining us. If you did not want her here, why did you agree to the visit?”
Robert stepped back, but did not remove his hands. “I am not sure I did. My mother never asks. She just does. Do you really wish to discuss this now?” He suddenly looked very weary.
“No. I was thinking that perhaps it was time to retire.” She took a step away, his hands slipped from her shoulders. Her legs wobbled only slightly. “Perhaps you’d like to try that port I mentioned last night.”
“I don’t think
you need another drink.”
“But perhaps you’d like a taste. I’ve been told it is very sweet on the lips.”
The room tilted as she turned and walked toward the door. Perhaps she’d had more wine with dinner than was wise—and then the brandy. She did feel delightfully warm inside, however. And not at all embarrassed by what she was planning.
With great determination she exited the parlor and made her way to the stairs. They did seem much longer than usual, but she would manage.
The reward would be worth it.
Port? Nothing could be sweeter than Kathryn’s lips. Robert watched the slow sway of her hips as she preceded him from the room. Tilting a bit, she righted herself with a hand on door. Clearly, she’d imbibed a bit more than she should.
Should it matter?
Did it matter?
It had been months since he’d shared her bed, months since he’d shared any bed. His deprivation was his own fault. While he’d desired her—he desired her always—the thought of her coming to him out of duty and nothing more had continued to eat at him. When he looked at her, it was hard to overcome his guilt and fear of another pregnancy.
It hurt so much to have lost their son. The thought of possibly losing her also was unbearable.
She took another step, reached the stairs, placed a hand on the railing, and began a slow ascent. Again, his eyes were drawn to her hips, so soft, so round—so everything he’d always wanted.
Without thought, he began to follow, his mind blanking of everything but want.
She was his wife. She was his. Why was he bothering with all these questions?
There was only one answer.
He reached the bottom stair with speed, his eyes level with her buttocks. His hands rose as if to reach out and grab. She was his wife, but the stairs were not the place.
Patience. Patience. Only a moment more.
The first stair creaked as he trod upon it and her head turned, a slow smile upon her lips.
He didn’t think he’d ever seen that expression of want and seduction upon her face before. Maybe he should have plied her with brandy long ago—or port.
Had she been inviting him to her bed last night when she’d offered him a taste? Had his own desire blinded him to hers?
He moved up the stairs quickly, drawing almost even as they reached the hall at the top.
She stopped there, reached out, and laid a hand upon his chest.
Strangely, it was one of the first times he could remember her reaching for him, touching him.
Something in his chest, his heart, tightened and held.
The warmth of her fingers penetrated the linen of his shirt, sending flashes of passion through him. Her hand, so small against his chest, stroked softly, her eyes alight with wonder as if experiencing touch for the first time.
“I can feel your heart,” she said, her eyes rising to meet his.
He wondered if she could feel it stop at her words—and then start again, its beat increasing by the second. He placed his one of his own hands over hers, holding it there, tight—afraid to let her go, to let this moment go.
Her smile widened then, spreading wide across her face. “I am better at this than I ever thought.”
He shook his head, trying to clear the enchantment, to take meaning from her words. “Better at what?”
“At seducing you.” Her smile grew to a full grin. She stepped back, and, still watching him, moved in the direction of her room. “Give me a moment and then you can join me for—for that glass of port.”
She walked into the room, shutting the door all but a crack. He almost followed immediately, but she had asked for a moment.
He looked at the paintings on the wall, his ancestors from generations back. He looked at the rich carpets, the well-polished wood of the stair rail, the fine brocaded wallpaper that his mother had hung a generation ago. He’d never felt so pleased with his home, with his life, with . . .
Almost as if conjured by his thought, a voice trailed down the hall, and not the voice he wished. “Harrington, is that you? Harrington?” His mother spoke in as loud a whisper as her sense of propriety would allow.
He thought about running—or ducking into Kathryn’s room to hide. Only the fear that his mother would follow stopped him. He didn’t know exactly what Kathryn was using her moment for, but he’d hate to have his mother barge in and embarrass her.
“Yes, mother,” he answered.
Her door opened and she stepped into the hallway, enveloped in deep purple velvet. God, where had that robe come from? Her hair hung in a silver braid over her shoulder. “Harrington, I’ve been meaning to speak to you.”
“So my wife informed me.”
“Then why haven’t you sought me out?” She glared at him, her eyes shining in the light of the candelabra that lit the hall.
“I imagined that you had retired for the night.”
“That is no excuse.”
“I am here now. What did you wish to discuss that required you to appear in the hall unclothed?” That last bit was intended solely for her benefit. He wouldn’t have cared if she’d walked down the halls naked—as long as he was far, far away. He pushed his mind from the thought.
“I understand that you’ve been having conversations with that woman again.”
“That woman?” he asked, although he knew exactly whom she meant. She’d feuded with Linnette since Linnette had been little more than a child. And when Linnette had married and come to live at the neighboring estate, the clash had grown monumental. His mother was convinced that Linnette had had the trees along the lane cut back just so that his mother’s complexion would freckle.
“Her Grace of Doveshire—although I hesitate to use the title—I’ve never known a woman less worthy of it.”
“Yes, I’ve been in discussion with her. We’ve been discussing the possibility of a canal.”
“A canal? Why on earth would you be discussing a canal? We’ve never had a canal.”
And therefore they should never have one? Robert knew exactly how his mother thought. Never mind that a generation ago there had not been the huge demand for coal that the new industrialization had developed. “I am just considering the matter. A railroad may make more sense. I think we are already too late for a canal.”
“And why are you talking to that woman about it?”
“I must. The path runs across Doveshire. With no duke in residence, it only made sense to speak to her grace.” He thought back to a conversation he had earlier that day with Mr. Swatts. Swatts was apparently a distant cousin of both the new and old dukes and had held some hopes of inheriting himself. He had not sounded at all pleased when he told Robert that the new duke had apparently arrived over a week ago., If it was true it would only make everything more complicated – and Robert felt no need to share any of that with his mother.
“Hmm, I am not sure that I agree—and it does cause talk. If even I’ve heard rumors, then I can only imagine who else is talking of it.”
He personally thought that his mother heard things before anyone else in London, but he was not going to say anything. “Do we need to discuss this now? I promise that I will find you in the morning.”
“Fine.” She did not sound fine. “Just remember, if I am hearing talk, then your wife will too, and that is no way to begin producing that heir you’re being so slow about. And from what I hear, the new duke has arrived. You can talk to him if you really want to waste our money on canals and trains. Good night.”
He should have known that his mother would know of the new duke. Robert noticed she did not add “sleep well.” But then, sleep was the last thing on his mind.
He waited until his mother’s door closed with a decisive click and then turned back to Kathryn’s chamber. His whole body tensed with pleasure at the thought of what was to come.
“Harrington . . . Oh, Harrington . . .”
Damnation. Not his grandmother too!
He turned, schooling his face to a neutral exp
ression, although he wasn’t sure his grandmother would see his features clearly in the dim light. “Yes, your grace?”
“Harrington, what are you doing about at this hour? Don’t you know all decent men are in their beds?” His grandmother stepped into the hall, a nightshirt of thick white linen wafting about her.
“I was just heading in that direction.” His door was just past Kathryn’s, a step in that direction moved him closer to both.
“Then why were you talking? It’s a bad habit to speak with oneself. There will be rumors that you are not quite right.”
“My mother was here a moment ago.”
“And what did she have to say? Nothing sensible, I am sure. I don’t know why you’d be holding a discussion with her at this hour in the hall. The young have no sense.” Not waiting for a reply she returned to her room mumbling. He noticed she did not close her door fully. Was she waiting to catch him committing some prank in the hall?
He waited one more moment for stillness to settle over the hall. He glanced at the still glowing candles, stepped forward, and blew them out—he didn’t need a footman or some hallboy wandering this night.
Two steps to Kathryn’s room, in the darkness the thin line of light under her door drew him invitingly. The handle turned quietly beneath his hand. Pushing the door open, he stepped in . . . and beheld the most beautiful, unwelcoming sight he had ever seen. His wife lay sprawled across the bed, her gown loose about her shoulders, the delicate lace of her chemise poking through. Her hair spread wondrously, in dark satin waves across the pillows, her delicate ears peeking out, her cherry lips pursed as if inviting his kiss – a faint purr escaping from them.
Even as he watched she stretched slightly, and then curled forward, a young kitten making herself comfortable.
His already tense body strained in desire as he stared at that mouth, enjoyed the curve of her body, remembered all his unfulfilled carnal fantasies.
Fantasies that would remain unfulfilled for yet one more night.
Her eyes lay shut, the dark lashes shadows upon her cheeks.
