“I did not lie.”
“Is that why you have stayed away for a week?” she asked, able to look at him once more.
His gaze was steady. “I needed to sort things out in my own mind, before I saw you again. I have trouble thinking when you are in the room, you see.”
Her heart squeezed and her body tightened. She swallowed. “Even now?’
“As my mind is settled now, I can sit here and enjoy your beauty.”
Natasha could feel her cheeks growing warm. Many men had told her she was beautiful. Raymond, though, made it sound profound and moving, that he really did think she was beautiful and only wanted to appreciate that and not possess her, as the Duke of Urlingford had.
She touched her hair self-consciously. Until this moment, the white streak that had appeared there a few years ago, running from her temple, had not bothered her. Many ladies mourned their youth when they spotted gray in their hair and would beat their chests and despair. Just not her.
Until now.
“That only makes you uniquely beautiful,” Raymond said.
“It makes me look old.”
“It makes you look like a woman who has lived,” Raymond assured her. “That is a prize no debutante can offer.”
She realized she was trying to hide the streak with her hand and lowered it back to her lap. “It just appeared overnight,” she confessed.
“When Seth died,” Raymond added.
She jumped. “How did you know that?”
“I saw it appear, too.”
“You noticed that?”
“I did.” He shifted, putting both boots on the floor and the empty glass to one side. “Shall we agree on something, Natasha? Shall we agree that we are both free to speak of those we have loved who have gone?”
Natasha drew in a shaky breath. “You would not mind?”
“Seth was part of you. He is still a part of you. No, I don’t mind. I would encourage it. You loved him. It has made you who you are and I would know all of you, if you will let me.”
Natasha met his gaze once more. “And will you tell me about the woman you loved?”
“Rose?” he asked, puzzled.
“Susanna.”
His jaw flexed. “Susanna is not gone yet.”
“For you, she may as well be,” Natasha replied. “Rose inspires guilt in you when you kiss me, because she died. I think it is Susanna, though, who has prevented you from sleeping and put those marks under your eyes.”
“You are right,” he said. “But not for the reasons you think. I will tell you about Susanna one day. I promise you I will. For now, though, I cannot, for the same reasons I refused to give anyone in the family details about you.”
He had refused because he was honorable and had given his word. Discretion was a part of his marrow, Natasha realized. In that, he was just like his mother. She would have to remember to point out to Elisa exactly how much Elisa had influenced her son.
There was clearly a similar impediment preventing Raymond from telling her about Susanna, even if he wanted to, which he said he did. It would be unfair to probe any further. “Very well,” Natasha said. “I will not ask about her again.”
Raymond raised a brow. “Thank you,” he said. “Tell me about Seth.”
“You know all there is to know,” Natasha said uneasily. “He returned from a voyage to Australia with a fever. Blackwater fever. He didn’t recover.”
“And neither did you,” Raymond added.
She suddenly wished she had another glass of brandy. “It hurts, to speak of him.”
“Of course it does. Only, when you do begin to speak of him, you censor yourself because you think I will object to the idea that you loved and lived with another man before me. I would stop you from feeling that way, if I can.”
“Can you stop me from feeling wretched because I like kissing you?” she asked.
Raymond’s eyes widened.
Natasha drew in a sharp breath and looked down at her hands once more.
“No, look at me,” Raymond insisted.
She lifted her chin.
He shifted to the front of his chair and leaned forward. “We both recoil for the same reason,” he said softly. “Even though we both enjoyed it.” He linked his hands together. It looked like a casual movement, yet his fingers whitened as he gripped them. “Tell me, Natasha, if you could kiss me and not feel that guilt, would you want to?”
“You mean, simply kiss you and enjoy it?”
“Yes.”
A moonlight night and lace curtains, flittered through her mind, which stirred her innards once more. To feel that pleasure and not be alone… She gathered her courage and said, “Yes, I would want that.”
“Then I think we should practice, until we have it.”
Her pulse leapt. “P-practice?”
“Repeat the behavior until the desired result is achieved.”
“Then, that is what you want, too?”
“More than you could possibly know,” he said, his voice low.
Her heart seemed to throw itself against her chest. “How does one go about practicing…um, kissing?”
“I imagine, the same way one practices bowling by bowling. Shall we?” The corner of his mouth was lifting again. She liked the way his smiles always seemed to emerge reluctantly from him, as if he was being pulled into good humor instead of merely expressing it. It made his smiles seem far more genuine than the hollow expressions she sometimes saw at society events.
He got to his feet and held out his hand. “Stand up,” he said.
She took his hand. Even that simple touch made her fingers tingle. When she was standing, she said: “I think you should take off your jacket. Men always practice in shirt sleeves.”
His smile was complete this time. He shrugged out of the coat. “I have always thought it monstrously unfair that ladies must clean, cook, sew and garden while wearing every layer, with not a button out of place, while men are free to cast aside all but their undershirts in the name of sports.” He laid the coat over the back of the chair and turned back to face her.
Natasha stepped closer to him and he grew still.
“I would like to…” she began and rested her hands against his forearms. She curled her fingers around them, feeling the thick muscle and the heat through the linen of his shirt. Slowly, she ran her hands up his arms, learning the shape of them and accustoming herself to touching a man who was not Seth. It made her tremble with her own daring, yet she forced herself to keep going. She rested her hands on his shoulders for a moment, adjusting to the higher reach.
Then she realized she was censoring herself again. “You are taller than Seth was,” she made herself say.
“I watched Seth haul in wet sails, once. He did it one-handed, while hanging from rigging with the other. Height does not mean everything,” Raymond said.
Natasha looked at him, surprised. “Yes, he was very strong,” she said. “I imagine you are, too. You have the shoulders and the arms.”
“I do well enough,” he said, although she could hear his amusement. Then she remembered that he had knocked the Duke of Urlingford unconscious with one blow. Yes, he was strong.
Natasha realized she was putting the moment off. Deliberately, she slid her arms around Raymond’s neck. She had to reach to do so. Then she turned her mouth up to his and pressed her lips against him.
For a moment, she could feel nothing but trembling and a sick weakness that made her want to tear herself away from him.
Then he gave a soft, ragged exhalation, as if he were holding onto the last ends of his restraint. Her body seemed to snap to tautness at the sound. Every inch of her came alive. Her limbs developed a limp heaviness and she could feel her heart pounding in her head and her throat. The flesh between her legs pulsed with the same frantic beat. Her breasts swelled inside the corset and rubbed against the camisole.
Raymond’s hands curled around her waist, then slid around behind her. She thrilled as he pulled her more tight
ly against him. They were sandwiched together, from breast to thighs and he was hot and hard against her.
Oh, it had been so long since she had been held like this! She had missed it and not known what she missed.
Seth…!
Natasha pushed herself away from Raymond and he let her go. He was breathing hard, his eyes narrowed, yet he said nothing.
She pressed her hand to her chest, her breath too quick and deep. Her corset was limiting her to little pants. She felt chilled down her front where he had been pressed against her.
Natasha straightened. She wanted to enjoy that feeling again. “Once more,” she said.
Raymond drew her to him, pulling her right up against him just as she wanted and she let out a shaky breath. “It is so good to be held again,” she whispered.
“It is so good to hold you.” His lips brushed her mouth, then pressed against her.
There was very little resistance, this time. Natasha held herself still until it passed, then let herself sink into the pure joy of the kiss. His lips were firm against hers. His hands smoothed along her back, moving restlessly. One moved up to hold her head and the kiss deepened. His tongue probed her mouth, plying against her lips and teeth, then stroking her tongue.
Against her, she could feel his swelling excitement. Pleasure rippled through her and her nub tingled. She grew damp between her legs. Suddenly, she wished that none of the layers between them were there. Then this thrill that she was feeling could be extended and increased, with no barriers for his hands or mouth, or for hers.
She could so easily see herself exploring every plane and facet of him. She moaned at the idea.
Raymond grew still. He lifted his mouth away and rested his forehead against hers. They were both breathing heavily.
“No guilt?” he murmured.
“Not now,” she whispered back.
“Nor I.”
Natasha stepped away from him. It felt as though even her feet were pulsing with the heated need racing through her. “I must go,” she said.
“You must?” He made no move to prevent her.
“I must walk. I have far too much energy to stand still. I will walk home.”
“I will escort you home.”
“Thank you, but you are the reason for the energy. If you were to go with me, it would not help in the slightest.”
“Very well,” he said as she walked out to the front hallway. “Mayfair is safe enough in the middle of the day. Only, I want you to send a note when you are home.”
She tied her bonnet quickly and pushed her hands into the gloves. “I will.”
Raymond held out her reticule. She took it, then reached up and pressed her mouth to his once more. Raymond caught her head and held it, his fingers tangling in the ties to her bonnet. He kissed her more thoroughly than she had intended, yet she enjoyed it, all the same.
She was breathless once more when she stepped out of the door. She did not fully get her breath back until she was home, because all the way back to Park Lane, thoughts of what it would be like to be held by him when garments were not a barrier left her dazed and her heart working far harder than a simple stroll demanded.
Chapter Ten
“I know the two of you are lying,” Lilly told Will and Jack. “What is it you are not telling me?”
The men exchanged glances. Guilt poured from them in awkward waves, as they shifted their feet. Lilly had seen Elisa’s children do the same thing. It was almost amusing, watching two grown men squirm, for they were standing in the middle of the room where Lilly conducted her lessons. The tables and chairs were all child-sized, making Will and Jack look larger than normal.
Jack tugged at the brim of the hat in his hand. “We’ve said all we can say,” he mumbled. His coal black, curly hair and beard were such a contrast to Will’s sandy hair and green eyes, yet the two of them were closer than real brothers and inclined to mischief. Lilly didn’t for a moment think they had been candid.
“What happened in Paris?” she asked, putting her hands on her waist, even though it was not ladylike. “What sort of trouble did you get into?”
“No trouble,” Will said quickly. “We spoke to Lady Keadew, who said she wasn’t Susanna.” He shrugged.
“Yet she knows Raymond,” Lilly clarified.
“Not for years, though,” Jack said.
“And you believed her?” Lilly asked. “Just like that?”
Again, the two of them exchanged glances.
“What made you think she was telling the truth?” Lilly pressed.
“Believe me, if you had seen her, you would not have doubted her,” Jack said.
Will shoved his elbow in Jack’s side.
“Why would I not have doubted her? What did she look like?” Lilly demanded.
Even Will, who was a slightly better liar than Jack, looked ill at ease.
“Come, come,” Lilly snapped. “You’ve said too much now. Out with it. Tell me everything.”
“It’s just that…it’s shocking,” Will said.
“I haven’t been shocked since you told me Father Christmas was not real,” Lilly shot back. She waited.
Jack cleared his throat. “Well…we got to Paris late in the afternoon, you see…” Gradually the story emerged. A club, a large butler and a rather smaller “man”. Lilly sank down onto the chair behind her desk, staring at them. She took off her spectacles and cleaned them on a fold of her walking suit, unable to meet their eyes.
When their tale was done, she put her hands on the desk, one over the other. “She may very well be Susanna,” she said slowly.
“She can’t be!” Will protested. “She isn’t the type to be interested in men at all.”
“All the more reason for Raymond to stay away from her and not tell a soul a thing about her,” Lilly pointed out.
Jack drew himself up to his full height and crossed his arms. “I don’t believe it,” he said flatly. “Raymond has too much self-respect to fall for a lady—a woman like that.”
“The heart is strange, sometimes,” Lilly told them. “It is contrary. The more an admirer is pushed away and rejected, the more they obsess about the object of their affection.”
“That still doesn’t sound like Raymond,” Will pointed out.
“Besides, she said she wasn’t called Susanna by anyone,” Jack added.
“Maybe Raymond only calls her that in his most private thoughts,” Lilly said.
“Except now the whole family knows about Susanna, doesn’t it?” Will said.
“We know of Susanna. We don’t know who she is for certain,” Lilly said. She got to her feet. “You must keep investigating. Come back and tell me what you find.”
The two stared at her.
She waved them away. “Go on. Shoo. I have to get the girls ready for supper.”
* * * * *
Raymond kissed Natasha seventeen times over the next week. She had not intended to keep count, yet each kiss lingered in her memory, a small event on its own.
The very evening of the first kiss in his library, Raymond arrived unannounced on her doorstep, wearing evening clothes and a cape. Corcoran merely raised his brows. “Viscount Marblethorpe.”
“I would speak to Natasha for only a moment,” Raymond began, then his gaze shifted to where Natasha stood at the door to the dining room. “About the Orphans Society,” he added.
“You had better come in,” Natasha said, fighting to keep her voice calm. Her heart was racing, though. Her body was tingling.
Corcoran took Raymond’s hat. Raymond didn’t remove the cape. “I really am staying only a moment,” he said.
“Very good, my lord.”
Natasha walked into the library. Raymond followed her in. The room seemed to shrink around him. He came right up to her, despite the open door behind him. His gaze met hers. “Tell me,” he said quietly. “Today, after the library, when you got home, did you fret about Seth?”
Her mouth parted. “Yes,” she said, breathing out her surpr
ise. “You, too? I mean—”
He kissed her, halting her words, stealing her breath and robbing her of thought. His arm came around her. She was very nearly lifted off her feet for he held her tightly against him. The cape came around them, enclosing her in his arms and his warmth.
It was not a short kiss. When he let her go at last, he held her steady until her knees worked once more. She pressed her fingers to her lips. They were swollen.
“There. That’s better,” he murmured.
She nodded.
He kissed her cheek and left.
She tossed sleeplessly that night and several times realized her hand was fluttering against her hip, or absently stroking her thigh as she recalled the details of the two kisses so far. She would roll onto her side and tuck her hand under the pillow, to remove temptation.
Deliberately, she would study the empty pillow next to her.
She could not sit still the next morning. She put on a walking suit and crossed Park Lane to Hyde Park far earlier than was customary to walk the paths alone, her heart hurrying along. By the time she felt that she might have exercised enough to remain in ladylike repose for the rest of the day, the paths had filled with all manner of people, most of them friends and acquaintances. The ride was filled with open carriages and people on horseback, cantering in the fresh morning air.
One of them was Raymond. Natasha caught her breath when she saw him. He had not seen her yet. Normally, she would not consider flagging down a rider. It would look presumptuous and cause a fuss. This morning, though, she lifted her hems and hurried over to the edge of the ride, then hesitated on the very brink. Should she wave? Call out? She was already well beyond polite behavior and had no idea.
Raymond resolved the puzzle. He cantered the horse over to where she stood and jumped out of the saddle with an easy movement that drew attention to his long legs and powerful thighs.
Natasha’s heart had already been hurrying along. Now it tripled its pace and she swallowed hard.
Raymond drew the horse along behind him by the reins and walked next to her for a mile or more, talking politely, as many others in the park were doing. At the end of the ride, he glanced around to check for observers. Using the stallion as a shield, he pulled her into his arm and kissed her, as she had been hoping he would do since she had seen him.
Soul of Sin (Scandalous Scions Book 2) Page 11
