by Terry Long
When his wife wasn’t around his servants, she moped. He’d seen her through his bedchamber window. On occasional days, she would sit alone for hours on end underneath the shady oak trees in his courtyard. Why she looked so miserable was a mystery to him. She had uncountable, delighted servants to wait on her, a comfortable bed to sleep in, and nothing to worry about. Michael often speculated what she thought about, and he came to one conclusion which always left a sour taste in his mouth: her lover. Her thoughts would be wrapped up in being touched so intimately by some blasted
The study doors flung open, and Matthews appeared underneath the frame. “Supper is served.” Michael nodded, but made no show of moving. “Milord, supper is served.”
“I hear you, man.”
As he strode to the dining hall, an edge of excitement crept through his frustration.
Supper marked the only time Ally would be in his presence. Though they ate in silence, an unspoken decree they seemed to have adopted on their own, her attendance at the table seemed almost…necessary.
She called off supper with him after that first morning with Victor, and he’d dragged her down the stairs and plopped her into her seat. “You’ll eat down here, or not eat at all,” he’d told her contemptuously, while she shot violet daggers at him across the table. After being locked in her chamber following her venture to leave Somerset Hall, she never attempted to go anywhere near her chamber during the day.
So now, each evening, Michael anticipated…what did he anticipate? Damnation!
Upon entering the dining hall and heading over to the head of the table, he couldn’t keep his eyes from reverting to her.
Ally, already seated, picked up her goblet for a drink as soon as he arrived. She was clad in a light green gown today, her hair pinned up in a perfect mass upon her head. She always looked presentable. And…more. He sighed.
Once seated, a footman filled his goblet with red wine. The pungency floated through the air—cinnamon and tanginess—and when it settled, he smelled her again. Always her!
She smelled like a combined perfume of freshly plucked flowers, sunshine and a heady hint of May showers. Her scent often got him intoxicated before he’d even touched his wine. Michael’s gaze flew to her once more. She picked up her glass for another drink.
She was blushing again. So prettily, too. Michael admonished himself, but be that as it may, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze from her face. When Ally at last acknowledged his presence, she smiled. And the breath was knocked right out of him. She did it on purpose.
“I wish all is well with both you and your brother,” she said, her smile still lingering on her lips, curving them upwards in a way that made his stomach clench. He’d never seen lips so succulent. Michael focused on ignoring her mouth, and concentrated on what came out from them instead.
This was the first time any mention of his brother arose since he’d vanished from the face of the earth.
“Although you may not aspire to trust a word I speak,” she went on in a strangled voice laced with a hint of hesitation. “In all honesty, I never wanted your relationship with him to be estranged.” Then, more adamantly, with a decisive shake to her head, she added, “Never.”
She sounded so concerned and agreeable. Michael narrowed his eyes. Ally never spoke to him without a burning torch behind her words. Tonight, he trusted she was up to something. She’d never offered him a smile—a sincere one—before.
“Are you listening?”
“No.” He wanted to put his mouth to her neck and let it trail down its silky-looking length. Clearing his throat, he decided it was in his best interest to find something to stare at other than his wife.
She scoffed. When he glanced in her direction, only to see the dainty little woman crossly taking another sip of wine, he warned, “You ought to go slower on your wine consumption. It isn’t like Madeira.”
She ignored him and took another sip before shoving a swelling spoonful of pulverized sweet potato into her mouth. Reaching for her wine goblet and draining its contents, Ally motioned to a footman with a sweet smile for her refill.
Michael pretended not to see his footman tripping over himself to do her bidding, while he began working on his supper.
The rest of the evening meal resulted in a normal occurrence: silence. He slid a glance her way. Ally’s skin heightened in color and she appeared tensed. She fidgeted in her seat, as if the padded chair wasn’t comfortable under her plump bottom. She had a nice little backside.
“You look flushed,” he blurted, though he couldn’t discern why he’d utter such absurdity. Never before had he pointed out a lady’s color or lack thereof. He just thought he should say something to get his mind off its current trail.
“If I must say so, it is quite warm in here.” She straightened in her chair. The slight movement caused her breasts to strain against her dress, and like domino-effect, his eyes flew there. And it stayed along the cut of her gown for quite some time. The skin there looked heavenly.
Ally tried to reach for her wine again, but fumbled with the table cover in an awkward action, as if she didn’t know how to make her fingers work properly. When she finally won the battle with the linen and placed her hand on the stem of her goblet, he stilled it. The heat of her skin vibrated to his fingertips, and Michael’s body instantly reacted to the simple touch.
She looked up at him with unfocused eyes that fluttered open and shut, while he stared at her heart-shaped face. Her mouth faintly parted, her lips plump and moist, her eyes- a dreamy paradise. At last, Michael admitted that he wanted her. Profusely. He’d been edging away from acknowledging the fact for weeks, but now…Dear God, his body felt like it was scorching in an open flame.
Michael kneaded her hand as she returned his gaze in wonder, with her slightly tilted head and endearingly pinched brows. She seemed unable to recognize the simple function of lust and desire.
She reached over and grabbed her goblet with her left hand. “I think I shall have more wine.”
His lips twitched while he watched her drain her glass to the last drop. She’d tilted her head back, offering him a beautiful sight of the narrow expanse of her creamy neck. The picture she painted was more than he could bear.
“May I have some more, please?” she requested of a footman who stood against the wall. He didn’t come to refill her glass, so she asked again.
Michael shook his head at the footman. “That’s enough, Ally.”
“No, you don’t understand. I need to have another.”
“You’ve had three.” In truth, she had five, but he didn’t want to mention his wife’s total beverage consumption. It wasn’t seemly.
Ally put a hand over her mouth. “You’re jesting!”
Michael tried not to laugh.
“Alas, I need to have another, and I warrant I’ll be fine.”
Michael leaned in so he wouldn’t be overheard. “Why must you have to have another drink to be fine?”
Ally followed in suit. She leaned in and whispered, “Because you make me quite restless.”
He raised his brows. She did so, too.
“Why do I make you restless?”
“That is a silly question. It’s like me asking you why the sun rises.” As an afterthought, she added, “Come to think of it, you’d probably know the answer.”
“I’d like to think I do.”
Ally smiled. “Of course you do.”
She was teasing him. It was adorable. Ally finished the rest of supper in a positively jovial mood, and he recognized why. His wife was sotted.
“I’ve finished,” she announced.
Michael had been waiting until she finished her creamed pudding. She’d taken a damned long time licking the spoon with meticulous care. He wanted to taste her a great deal, he was tempted to pull her out of the dining hall and carry her to his chamber.
“I’ve finished, Mr. Langdon,” she told him once more, slurring rather excessively.
He rose when she did, and quickly
steadied her when she swayed. He edged around the corner of the table to get closer to her. Ally’s head fell to his chest. Good God, the woman couldn’t even manage to stay standing without tilting from side to side. He was certain she wouldn’t be able to remain on her own feet without his help, and he’d be damned if she took a tumble before his footmen.
Picking her up, Michael carried her with little effort. She twined her arms around his neck and snuggled close, resting her head under his chin. Michael felt her hot breath fanning against his bare skin and he groaned.
“Are you angry with me?” Ally grumbled.
“No.”
“You sound angry. I think you’re angry,” she insisted.
Michael sighed as he started up the staircase. “Do you wish me to be so?”
“No.” She heaved a sigh loud and hard, the way he just did. “I want you to tell me why the sun rises.”
Michael looked down at the little bundle in his arms. Ally smiled, her eyes closed.
“You want me to talk about the sun now?”
She nodded. “I liked it when you described the sunrise to me.” She nestled deeper against his chest. “You were quite passionate. I think I should like to learn about all things that make Michael Langdon passionate.” She attempted to say all that three times before satisfied she got it out correctly.
“I can show you one or two things I’m quite passionate about, Ally.”
“That would be wonderful!” Her arms tightened around his neck.
He smiled over her head. “I thought you might like that.”
Once he reached his chambers, he placed her in the center of his massive bed. She didn’t sink into the mattress until he covered her body with his. She had the right amount of softness and warmth that made his blood rage to dangerous degrees.
“This is one of the things I’m most passionate about,” he said as he nipped her earlobe. She squirmed, but didn’t stop him, so he trailed his mouth over the length of her neck and licked here and there, the way she had with her dessert spoon.
Michael caught her bottom lip between his teeth and gently bit it. She pulled at his shoulders to get closer. Plunging his tongue into her mouth, he tasted, teased, and sucked, smiling into her mouth when she let out a sultry moan. He thought Ally might be holding back as she didn’t return his kisses, only urging him for more. “Kiss me back,” he instructed.
“Like how you’ve done?” She darted her tongue in and out of his mouth.
Michael lifted his head to peer down at her bemused countenance. “You don’t know how to kiss?”
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Michael turned his mouth to the side. “You don’t like to kiss then,” he presumed, stroking her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “In that case, shall we proceed to the other bit I’m passionate about?” His face lingered above hers, their noses almost touching, while his hand caressed down the length of her body: the flat of her stomach, the flare of her hips, and the apex of her thighs.
He smiled. When he took her, it was going to be glorious. Her body was remarkably supple, her scent drove him mad, and the taste of her- God, she was delicious.
“Your passion, yes.” Ally licked her lips and nodded in an unhurried motion. “Tell me, why does the sun rise?”
Michael suddenly lost his smile. “You can’t be serious.”
“About what?” she asked with droopy eyelids.
“You just asked me to tell you about…oh, hell!”
Michael was incredulous. No woman had ever fallen asleep before he bedded them; they fell asleep after!
As he stared down at her, he didn’t know whether he should be appalled or amused. Easing his weight on his arms, Michael tried to calm his boiling blood, but to no avail. He kept his throbbing arousal pressed against her thigh while he gazed down at her.
She was beautiful, his wife. Her lashes nearly touched her cheekbones as she slept, her luscious lips were plump and ripe, her cheeks, high and rosy. Tendrils of hair came loose from its pins. Michael removed the rest of them until the golden strands sprawled among his pillow like ribbons of gold.
He couldn’t prevent himself from scattering light kisses on her. She was too beautiful, much too beautiful to be so self-seeking. “Selfish woman,” he whispered before dropping another kiss onto her lips that were curved up into a slight, contented smile.
Chapter Ten
Ally stirred, opening her eyes. She peeked over the edge of the covers.
“You’re awake.”
“Abigail?” Her throat felt dry as a bone.
“Yes, milady. ‘Tis me.”
Sunlight suddenly washed into the chamber, blinding Ally. She burrowed back beneath her blankets. “No. It’s too bright.”
Abigail evidently did not hear her protest because the rustling sound of curtains being pulled back continued.
“I have a pot of tea ready for you, milady.”
“I don’t want any tea,” Ally grumbled.
“Milord’s orders.”
That sobered her up quite appropriately. “His orders?” She sat up in bed, squinting against the intense rays. His bed. “Did I sleep here? Where did-” Oh, God. “Where did he sleep?”
A dainty porcelain cup was offered in Ally’s general direction, complete with a full-blown blush. “I would think here, milady.”
“No tea.” Ally scrambled to the edge of the bed and threw her feet to the side, sliding off.
The back of her head pounded viciously as she tried to replay the events which occurred during supper last evening that left her dazed and flustered. How had she ended up in his chamber? She never recalled walking up the stairs and plopping herself in his bed.
Walking through the connecting door, Ally came to stand in front of her own bed and took a moment to stare down at the unruffled coverlet.
Did she enter her room at all after supper last evening? Was she foxed? Heavens! She had one knee on the bed, ready to climb into it when Abigail giggled behind her. Ally twirled around. That slight movement didn’t help her throbbing head. Instead, it added to the ghastly nauseating sensation. She shut her eyes, forcing the sensitivity away.
“Here you are.” Abigail guided Ally to the settee. “If you sit down, you’d feel better, I think.” She disappeared through the connecting door and returned with the tea service in one hand, Ally’s gown and corset in the other, and a decidedly sizable grin on her face.
As soon as Ally spotted her apple-green gown, she looked down at herself—belatedly realizing that she was clad in nothing but her chemise—and gasped. Had Michael seen…? She inwardly groaned.
“May I have a bath?”
“Now, milady?”
“Do not worry. Though it’s early, I have little fear of catching a head cold.” She hadn’t had a bath last night. Or had she? Even the simple thoughts of bathing made the tenderness in her head worsen. “I think it shall soothe my pains,” she added, sipping from the delicate cup.
She didn’t believe Abigail could have glowed any redder, but the girl did. “Of course, milady.”
After a flurry of maids filled her tub with pails of hot water, Abigail dropped a large handful of dried, scented floral and began to tug on Ally’s chemise.
“I can manage from here. Thank you.” Once left in solitude, she discarded the rest of her scant clothing and sunk into the scorching water, letting the rose-scented steam fill her senses. Her mind kept insisting on replaying bits and pieces from the previous night, but the only thing she wanted was to forget, because unfortunately, in the end, she’d keep coming back to where she woke.
Waking up to find herself in his bed was startling. Waking up to find herself in a practically undressed state was disconcerting. Had she actually walked to him in the middle of the night…and undressed herself? No, she couldn’t have done so. But she couldn’t remember not doing so, either.
Ally slid lower into her tub with an overdrawn groan. No matter how low she sunk into the water, she still wouldn’t be able to hide f
rom him.
As she continued to soak in her distress, her mind drifted to the plan she was supposed to execute. She had a good plan, too. She would have an amiable conversation with Michael about this and that, before easing into the topic of visiting Dartford. She had prepared to say she’d travel with as many of his dedicated servants the coach could hold and return before sunset. Surely he’d agree.
But her plan was for naught. She’d gone and wasted a perfectly excellent moment to—oh, dear!—to get foxed.
Ally quit berating herself when she summoned up Michael’s face. It was difficult to maintain a serene appearance when a man looked liked him. Michael didn’t pay her much heed, but when he did focus his full attention on her, it was unsettling. The dark gaze, when temporarily holding her hostage, was always penetrating, exciting, and frightening all at the same time.
Last night was no exception. As he sat there, his eyes practically burned holes through her very skin, exciting her to no end. Seemingly, his very gaze communicated his desire for her. The feeling, though extraordinary, felt unrealistic. She’d never thought holding the attention of a man like Michael would make a woman feel…exquisite, as if she were the only woman worth looking at.
Hence the reason she couldn’t calm her frantic nerves.
Hence the reason she kept draining her glass.
She had allowed herself the ridiculous farce that he was engrossed in her—fascinated even—for that short while. She’d do well to remember that a man like her husband didn’t fancy women like her.
***
Ally paced the white marbled floor of the morning room, stopping to peer out the window, wishing she could be doing something to entertain herself. She found it hard to sit still with her thoughts running around in circles, driving her barmy with boredom. Reading was out of the question. She had read half a dozen books already, and couldn’t even retain information from a single one. Embroidery made her fingers sore from all the pricking; she’d never been any good at it.
