The Wedding Trap

by Tracy Anne Warren

  Aftershocks pinged and popped inside her, her mind and body drowsy with rapture and repletion.

  But Kit had not yet taken his satisfaction, stroking inside her a few last, powerful times, before stiffening and calling out her name. Smiling, she held him as he quaked, then cradled him as he collapsed upon her and tucked his cheek against her own.

  Lying together, she knew he loved her. How else could a man do what they had done and not feel more than simple lust? Her heart burst wide at the thought as she sifted her fingers through the damp silk of his hair.

  I love you, Kit.

  The words trembled on her lips, about to spill forth when suddenly she noticed a change in him, a slight cooling of his skin, a new tension that tightened the muscles in his neck and shoulders.

  Exhaling, he eased himself from her body and rolled onto his back beside her.

  “Dear Lord,” he groaned, lifting a hand to cover his eyes, “what have we done?”

  A shiver raised gooseflesh on her skin, her buoyant glow of happiness fading like a doused candle. She frowned. Was that regret she heard in his voice? Did he wish they had not made love after all? Surely she must be wrong.

  Quiet fell over the room, the gentle hiss and spit of a last log burning in the fireplace, accompanied by the soft ticking of the rosewood casement clock that stood in a distant corner.

  Raising his hips to tuck his shirttails into his breeches, Kit fastened his falls, then sat up.

  And that’s when she realized she was not mistaken.

  Suddenly, brutally, she became aware of her rumpled state, sprawled on the study floor like some doxy, with her nightgown bunched around her waist, her breasts naked and exposed. A draft of air washed over her, making her nipples pucker, but from cold this time, not desire.

  Reaching down, she struggled to cover herself, plucking at her nightgown and robe, and the open top of her gown.

  “Here,” Kit murmured, “let me.”

  With an irritation wholly unlike her, she considered slapping his hands away. Instead she allowed him to help her into a sitting position, only then noticing the rude smear of blood on her thighs, a few crimson drops staining the white cloth beneath.

  She stared.

  Her lost virginity, she mused. Given in love. Defiled by remorse.

  Obviously unaware of her thoughts, Kit drew her skirts down over her legs, concealing the evidence of their recent coupling. When he moved his hands toward her bodice, she hunched her shoulders and turned away. “I’ll do it.”

  He paused, then dropped his arms to his sides. “As you wish.”

  Ignoring the stiff, clumsy movement of her fingers, she forced herself to fasten every last button, all the way to her chin, then did the same with her robe.

  Standing, he extended a hand and assisted her to her feet.

  Instead of releasing her, he pulled her against his chest and bent to brush a kiss over her forehead, tender and almost sexless, as though he were comforting a child.

  “Forgive me,” he said, his expression grave, his voice gruff and serious, more serious than she had ever heard him. “I completely lost my head tonight. But the responsibility is all mine and you are not to worry. I am fully prepared to do as honor requires.”

  Honor? What was he saying?

  “It’s very late, or very early depending upon your point of view. Either way, you should go to bed now and sleep.” He skimmed a palm over her hair, then set her from him. “Tomorrow will be soon enough to discuss our plans.”

  A line formed between her brows. “What are you talking about? I am afraid I do not understand.”

  “No, you are far too innocent, even now.” He sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair. “We must wed, Eliza. Duty leaves us no choice in the matter.”

  Wed? He wished to marry her?

  But no, she realized, he did not wish it. He spoke of duty and honor and, yes, obligation, saying they had no choice.

  A deep ache formed inside her chest.

  “I’ll apply for a special license, and we can do the deed as early as this weekend, assuming the archbishop gives us his consent. Under the circumstances, I am sure he will have no objection.”

  Deed! Is that what marriage to her would be? A task that must be performed no matter how disagreeable? A kind of penance from which he could not escape? He made the idea of their union sound about as pleasant as a trip to the tooth-drawers.

  A splinter of pain stabbed beneath her breast. She wondered if it might be the breaking of her heart.

  “No,” she said in a low, steady tone.

  The word stopped him in his tracks. “No? What do you mean?”

  “I will not marry you.”

  For a moment, she couldn’t believe what she had just heard herself say. Had she really turned down an offer of marriage from Kit? Miserable an offer as it most certainly was.

  Isn’t that what she had always wanted? What she had craved for so many, long years now? The chance to be Kit’s wife, to live with him and share his life and bear his children. And yes, sleep in his bed. Despite the dreadful circumstances, she ought to have been jumping at the opportunity, willing to accept him on any terms, no matter how grim.

  But she couldn’t do it, not now, knowing he desired her but nothing more.

  Knowing he did not love her.

  And when the desire faded in time, as it surely would for him, what would be left for her but bitterness and sorrow?

  No, she vowed, she would not bind them inside an uneven marriage. One he obviously did not want. One that she knew with certainty would tear her soul apart a single, small piece at a time.

  She would have been better off accepting Lord Maplewood. At least with him she could feel an equal and not a burden forced upon him because of a single, imprudent act of passion.

  No matter how much she loved Kit, she deserved better. And so, she thought, did he.

  Kit shot her a fierce look. “You have to marry me.”

  She shook her head. “I do not. Now, it is late, as you said, and I am tired. It has been a long…eventful day.”

  “Eventful? Is that how you describe losing your virginity?”

  His question brought heat into her cool cheeks.

  He clasped his hands around her upper arms, pitching his voice to a gentle timbre. “I took your innocence, Eliza. I compromised you and now I must make amends.”

  Her resolve hardened, whatever ambiguity she might have been feeling about her decision dropping away.

  “I thank you for your sacrifice, but there is no need. You are not the only one who participated in tonight’s activities. I wanted you as much as you wanted me, perhaps more. With all these lessons we have been having, my curiosity has been running rampant. I must admit you more than satisfied my wildest fancies. You’re better than any book, even a naughty one.”

  She drew in a breath to carry on her lighthearted act. “So you see there is no need for gallantry. I shall be quite fine, just as I am.”

  “But Eliza—”

  She hushed him with a finger across his lips. “Please, don’t persist. You do not wish to marry me, and I”—she swallowed—“do not wish to marry you. Let us leave it at that.”

  His green-gold eyes looked troubled. “But what if you are with child? You could be, you know.”

  Her eyes widened. No, she thought, she had not realized that such a thing could happen after only one time. But as she considered the possibility, she knew in her heart she had not conceived. A part of her cried at the knowledge.

  She shook her head. “I feel sure I am not.”

  “But you could be, and if—”

  “If anything should happen, I will let you know.”

  He sighed, whether from frustration or relief she could not tell.

  Suddenly, needing one more touch, she rested her palms against his cheeks and pulled his head down for a final kiss. A last, wonderful, blindingly sweet kiss that rocked her to her toes.

  “Thank you for a thrilling evening,”
she whispered. “I know I shall never forget it for as long as I live.”

  Then, already weeping inside, she turned and let him go.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A long while later, Kit made his way to his bedchamber, a newly refilled glass of brandy in his hand. Quaffing a healthy swallow, he proceeded along the hallway of the family quarters, his shoes silent against the finely patterned carpets.

  As he neared Eliza’s room, his step slowed. He stopped outside her door.

  Was she already asleep? he wondered. Dreaming? And if so, of what? Of him? Of their lovemaking? Or something else? Her mind utterly calm and at peace?

  He clenched a fist at his hip and drank another mouthful of spirits, desire firing his blood every bit as strongly as the drink. Despite their recent lovemaking, he was honest enough with himself to admit he wanted Eliza again. Even in her virgin state, she had been a magnificent lover, warm and ardent and inviting.

  A few kisses from her satiny sweet lips, a couple caresses from her delicate hands, and he’d been lost to all reason and good sense. So far gone had he been, in fact, that he’d taken her there on the study floor like a barbarian. What must she think of him? Although, as he recalled, she had made no protest, welcoming, even encouraging his advances.

  He had no excuses, though, castigating himself for his weakness, his all-too-human frailty. He was the one with experience and control, the “teacher,” who ought to have found a way to stop, no matter how impossible his need, or her own.

  Afterward, his body brimming with sexual satisfaction, the magnitude of their act had rushed upon him. With stark clarity, he realized that he had done what no gentleman would dare to do outside the marriage bed. He had taken Eliza’s virginity, stolen the virtue that by rights should have belonged only to the man she would one day wed.

  In the next moment, he’d known that man must be him.

  But when he offered her marriage, she had refused. Shock still radiated through him to remember her words.

  What was it she had said? You do not wish to marry me, and I do not wish to marry you. Let us leave it at that.

  But how could he leave it? How could he, in all good conscience, do as she said and simply forget? Behave as though the night just past had no real significance? As if their lovemaking had been nothing but a mad, impetuous, passionate mistake?

  Yet hadn’t it been precisely that? A night of loveplay gone much, much too far?

  He supposed he ought to feel relieved. After all, she had released him from his obligation, given him back his freedom with no strings attached. Many men would be glad, secretly congratulating themselves on their lucky escape.

  So why didn’t he feel lucky? Quite the opposite, truth be known. His reaction made no sense, not even to himself.

  It wasn’t as if he really wanted to marry her. Not that marriage to Eliza would be so very bad. In fact, a union between them could have its definite advantages. He liked Eliza, liked her a lot, and they were clearly compatible, both in bed and out. She would be an excellent companion and a good friend. His entire family adored her, and undoubtedly she would make a wonderful mother for any children they might conceive together.

  It’s just that he wasn’t ready to marry right now. He had far too much living to do before he settled down. And yet…

  Before he knew what he meant to do, he reached out and took the cool metal knob to her bedroom door in his grasp.

  He stopped, fighting his compulsions and his confusion as he debated whether or not to give the handle a turn.

  If he went inside her room, what would he say to her? Wake her to demand she marry him, no matter her wishes? Insist she be his bride?

  And once inside her bedroom, might he not be tempted to take her again? Climb between the sheets and tangle them both in a spell of seduction and sex so heated neither could refuse?

  Deciding he had already acted in haste enough for one night, he released the doorknob. Maybe the best thing would be to give her a little time, a few days to reconsider her actions. Some time as well to consider his own.

  On a sigh, he downed the rest of his brandy and shuffled down the hallway to finally find his bed.

  Eliza roused abruptly.

  She’d heard a noise, or at least she thought she had, as if someone had been standing outside her door. Lying in the dark, she listened again, hearing nothing but quiet. Perhaps the sound had been made by one of the servants. Though that answer seemed unlikely since the hour was still too early for any of the staff to be moving around the house.

  Swinging her legs out of bed, she crept to the door. Easing it open, she gazed out.

  The hallway stood in shadow, dark and utterly devoid of life.

  Closing the door, she padded back to her lonely bed.

  Only a dream, she mused.

  Who had she thought it was? Kit come to tell her he loved her and they must be wed, after all?

  A hollow laugh erupted from her throat, quickly turning into a sob.

  Burying her face in her pillow, she wept.

  “More tea, miss?”

  Eliza gazed up from her ruminations, realizing she had been woolgathering again. “Yes, thank you,” she told the young footman, waiting while he filled her china cup with the steaming, delicately flavored brew.

  She turned her attention back to Adrian and Violet’s breakfast table conversation, relieved neither of them seemed to have noticed her brief lapse. Lifting a buttered triangle of toast to her mouth, she ate a bite, then set the slice aside, wanting no more.

  Violet’s gaze shifted her way. “Is that all you are going to eat? You’ve barely touched your meal.”

  “Sorry. I don’t know why, but I’m just not hungry this morning.”

  “You haven’t been hungry the last few mornings. Is anything amiss?”

  Eliza forced a reassuring smile. “Of course not. I am perfectly well.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Violet. “Just that time of the month,” she whispered.

  “Oh,” Violet said, obviously sorry to have pried in so public a forum.

  Adrian, ever the gentleman, turned a page of his newspaper and pretended he hadn’t heard a thing.

  Violet sent her a bolstering smile, then gently moved the conversation on to safer topics. Eliza sipped her tea and let her friends talk, doing her best to ignore the dull cramping settled low in her belly.

  Right on schedule, her flow had arrived this morning. She’d burst into tears when she’d realized, a stupid reaction since a baby now would have proven a disaster, forcing Kit to offer his hand again and her to accept this time. She ought to have been relieved since she did not want a marriage based on necessity and obligation, no matter how much she loved Kit.

  And yet irrational as it might seem, the news had hit her like a small death. What she and Kit had together was through. Even their passionate, clandestine encounters were over. She could excuse her earlier actions as a kind of naive insanity, fueled by love and youthful ardor. But to ever find herself in his arms again would make her something far different, and far, far worse.

  Of course, now that he had lain with her, whatever sexual appeal she had held for him might very well be gone. She had heard whispers that men could be like that sometimes. And Kit had never struck her as a constant lover, having watched him over the years flit from girl to girl like a bee gathering pollen.

  Over the three short days since their night together in the study, she had barely seen him. Both of them were admittedly busy with social engagements, but not so much so that their paths would not have crossed at all. She wondered if he might be avoiding her.

  The only thing she knew for certain was that he did not love her.

  Cruel as it might seem, it was the truth.

  So she must accept the fact, put away her foolish, idiotic dreams and move on.

  Misery engulfed her.

  She never should have done it, she chided herself. Never should have risked her heart on such an unlikely chance at love. What had she been thinkin
g, to place herself in such jeopardy again, when she’d barely managed to recover from the first time he’d stolen her heart?

  Gazing across the breakfast table at her friends, a harsh stab of envy rose inside her. Look at them, she thought. So happy. So perfectly suited to each other. Their union rooted in friendship and respect, and above all else, a deep, abiding love that will last them all the rest of their days.

  Why couldn’t she have that? Why couldn’t Kit love her? If not with his whole heart, then at least a little. Just enough to let her pretend his proposal had been motivated by affection instead of duty.

  Seconds later, Kit strode into the room. Her pulse jittered as he paused just inside the doorway. Immediately he fixed his gaze upon her, his lips curving upward, warm and tender. The power of his beautiful smile impaled her to the core, as if he’d tossed a lance straight through her heart.

  She did not smile back.

  Lowering her eyes, she lifted her teacup to her mouth and forced herself to swallow a sip that very nearly made her choke.

  What did he think he was doing? Smiling at her like that?

  “Good morning,” he greeted in a sunny tone.

  Adrian and Violet offered up pleasant replies.

  Eliza mumbled a response, then pushed a cold toast half, with its smear of congealed butter and jam, around in a circle on her plate.

  She heard him cross to the sideboard, take a plate and begin helping himself to the tempting array of offerings carried up from the kitchen.

  Meanwhile, the young footman came forward and set a fresh china cup and saucer in the place directly to her left.

  She wanted to protest. Why couldn’t a seat be arranged on the opposite side of the table, beside Adrian? She did not want Kit sitting so near.

  The servant moved away but quickly returned, pouring steaming coffee into the cup, the staff aware that Kit generally preferred a more robust beverage than tea in the morning.

  Kit crossed and set down his plate, heaped with food. “Shall I bring anyone anything while I am up?” he offered.

  His brother and sister-in-law both declined with appreciative refusals.