He smiled. “Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow. And I promise you, my love, our wedding night will be all that you desire.”
He opened the trapdoor and started down the steps.
“I’ve half a mind to cry off,” she called after him.
He looked up at her, and the devil was in his eyes. “No,” he said softly. “You won’t do that.”
He reached back to shut the trapdoor, and even beneath his coat, she saw the shift of his muscles, the powerful breadth of his chest.
No, Kate sighed. That she definitely would not.
Fifteen
He plays my body like the strings of a harp—now a glide, now a strum, now a staccato pluck. Glissandos of pleasure . . .
KATE became the new Duchess of Lyle without fuss, in Lady Romney’s drawing room.
She wore a blue silk gown—blue for loyalty and fidelity—and carried a loose posy of white roses Louisa had picked from the garden. The ceremony proceeded with only four witnesses—Lord Romney and Lady Fanny, Louisa and Sukey.
As Lyle said his vows, Kate thought her heart might burst with happiness. He hadn’t said he loved her, but the way he looked at her as he made those sacred promises, so fiercely possessive yet with such latent tenderness in those usually cold gray eyes, she couldn’t be mistaken.
She hadn’t said the words, either, for that matter. It hardly seemed necessary. She’d never marry without love—real love—again.
How had they fallen in love so quickly? In terms of days and hours, the process had been fast, but their turbulent association, the intensity of the time they’d spent together made it seem an eon since they’d met on the terrace at her house.
However it had happened, she trusted it. After all, the length of her acquaintance with Hector hadn’t been proportionate to their happiness. She’d been acquainted with him forever, but as a husband, he’d made her miserable.
She shouldn’t think of Hector on such a joyful day. Lyle was hers. After such a turbulent start, it seemed incredible, but it was right.
When the ceremony ended, he raised her hand to his lips, and the gaze that held hers promised so much more.
They parted then, to receive congratulations from Sukey and their hosts, and from Louisa, who kissed Kate’s cheek. “I couldn’t wish for a better sister.”
Kate hugged her. “I’m so happy,” she whispered.
Using a gloved knuckle to brush away a tear, Louisa nodded. “So am I. For you.”
Sensing something very wrong, Kate squeezed Louisa’s hand. “Anytime you wish to talk—”
“Thank you. I’m glad to know it, but please don’t concern yourself about me. You must enjoy this day.”
Despite their small number, the group managed to make merry. Louisa seemed to have put aside her somber mood and Fanny was in high spirits.
The wedding, Fanny said, had relieved almost unbearable tedium while she awaited her lying-in.
“I want this baby out!” she cried outrageously, making Kate gasp and the others chuckle.
Kate took part in the makeshift festivities with enthusiasm, but every other minute, her gaze strayed to Lyle.
She couldn’t wait until the evening, when she’d have him to herself.
They’d argued over where their wedding night should be spent. Lyle voted for the superior comfort of his bedchamber, but Kate wanted the tower, with no one near to hear her if she screamed.
By judicious exercise of tact and diplomacy, she won. And she couldn’t wait to celebrate her victory.
Finally, twilight gilded the landscape. With Lyle ever vigilant, they walked the short distance from the house to the tower unscathed, with the festive blaze of flambeaux to light their way.
She looked up at the glow in the tower window. Someone must have been there before them to prepare the room. Her prison, where she’d chafed at such close confinement.
Now, she anticipated the isolation with pleasure, because she shared it with Lyle.
In midstep, he bent and swung her up in his arms. She laughed in surprise, giggled like a young girl. She hadn’t felt this carefree for years.
He smiled down at her, and she wound her arms around his neck as he strode into the tower.
He moved towards the narrow, winding staircase without a check.
“Oh, no, you can’t!” she said, half laughing, but she didn’t know his strength.
He carried her up with ease, straight through the open trapdoor. Grinning at her surprise, he bent his head for a slow, lingering kiss before he set her on her feet.
He kicked the trapdoor shut, and the slam made her jump, nerves skittering.
He didn’t speak, but gazed at her intently, as if memorizing every feature of her face.
Backing her towards the bed, he kissed her again, slow, gentle, and long. She ran her hands over his big shoulders and felt the tension in them, but his mouth was light on hers, and his soft caresses thrilled her body, filled her with yearning.
This is nice, she thought. Different. No need to rush.
Still kissing her, his hands moved to the buttons at the back of her gown. Slipping them free one by one, his lips drifted over her cheek.
Hot breath in her ear told her he was panting, impatient as she was, but he held back, exploring her one inch at a time.
And it was lovely, and the melting sensation grew, but she needed him now. After his absence, after all the misunderstanding between them, after waiting an agonizing day upon his return, she didn’t want to wait any longer. Didn’t want to think. She wanted to be swept away.
His lips brushed her pearl-drop earring as he kissed behind her ear. She gasped, and his tongue swiped over her earlobe, making the earring tremble like the rest of her.
He stayed there, teasing and playing, until her gown fell open at the back. She let it slip down her arms and hush to the ground.
Kate stepped out of the puddle of blue silk, moving towards him, sliding her hands upwards to untie his cravat while he ripped off his coat.
As soon as he stood in his shirtsleeves, she let her hands wander over him, feeling the strength in his shoulders and chest. She kneaded the muscles in his back while he kissed her, holding him close enough to feel the hard jut of his erection against her belly, rampant for her as she was eager for him.
Tentatively, she touched him there, cupping her palm over him, anticipating the feel of him, thick and hard inside her. He gasped and jerked, then removed her hand, holding it in his.
“Easy, Kate,” he murmured. “I won’t last another minute if you do that.”
“You don’t like it?”
With a ragged laugh, he said, “My innocent, the danger is I’ll like it too much.” He tilted her face with his hands and kissed her. “Let me take the lead now, darling.”
So she did. After all, what did she know of marital relations? And the things he’d done to her at the hunting lodge, and then again here, in this very room, showed he was proficient in the art.
Still, something was missing, and she couldn’t pinpoint what. He touched her breast and lightly rubbed her nipple through her shift, and her mind faded as pleasure overtook conscious thought.
Harder, she begged silently. But how could she say it? He didn’t want her to interfere.
He turned her around to unlace her corset, murmuring a string of endearments and encouragement. She’d never known he could be so talkative. Their previous encounters had been all but silent.
His lips hovered, tantalizingly, over the junction between collarbone and throat, and she shivered, willing him to kiss her there, to bite as he’d promised that first night.
But he seemed to think better of it, perhaps because faint bruising still shadowed the tender skin there, and left the vulnerable spot alone.
Come back! But she didn’t say it. He knew what he was doing. She ought to relax, stop thinking so much.
And so it went on. A touch here, a caress there. Nothing sustained, everything featherlight and fleeting. By the time they were both n
aked and lying on the bed she was ready to scream with wanting.
Perhaps that was what he’d had in mind?
“Max,” she whispered, but he didn’t seem to hear her, intent on nibbling some part of her anatomy. “Max!” she raised her voice and caught his attention.
He looked up, his face a mask of control.
She tugged at his shoulders. “Max, I need you. Please.”
It took him a few moments to understand her. He shook his head. “Not yet.” And he moved back down her body, kissing around her navel, caressing her hips with those big, rough hands. Those hands . . . Her stomach felt fluttery and strange.
And then he moved lower.
“But I—” Kate gasped. He was kissing her . . . down there! Just as her sister Bella had described to her once when she’d drunk a little too much champagne.
Kate had written about such a thing in her diary, but she’d no idea, none at all, because his tongue was doing remarkable things and his fingers rubbed her inside, too, and there was—oh, there was—something he did with his lips that just . . . “Ah!”
She convulsed and shuddered on an explosion of pleasure that sent waves of heat and light through her body, right to her fingertips and toes. He kept touching and pressing, rubbing and licking, heightening the sensations, until she moaned helplessly and writhed in restless torment.
When the storm of sensation had passed, he laid his head on her stomach. She opened her eyes and stroked his thick, soft hair with her fingertips.
And with more satisfaction than she usually felt when she lost an argument, she had to admit he’d been right.
That had been worth waiting for.
Small tremors still rippled through her when he came over her, bracing himself on his elbows. He positioned himself quickly and eased inside her, moving slowly, inching his way towards her womb.
She watched his face, eager to see his pleasure. But his jaw clenched, his shoulders shook, the tendons in his neck corded with strain. He almost appeared in pain as he moved slowly, so slowly, filling her.
For Kate, the sensations were new and sharp and exquisite. In moments, she clenched and shuddered around him, as if her first orgasm had never ended, just built and built until it exploded again.
She tilted her hips, wanting more of him, allowing him to penetrate deeper. Exhaling a sharp breath, he stroked into her fast and hard, hitting a spot that responded with exquisite pleasure bordering on pain. On a gasp, she wrapped her legs around his hips to take him deeper still, and his whole body stiffened as he broke and convulsed, collapsing on top of her, crushing her in the most satisfying way.
When his tremors finally subsided, he rolled onto his back and ran his hands over his face. “My God, woman. You’ll be the death of me.”
Smiling, she traced the muscles of his chest with her fingertip. “I can think of less pleasant ways to go.”
PERRY sat below the window against the south wall of the tower. He’d trapped a rabbit in the woods and killed it. Skinning the animal slowly, he waited for them to arrive.
He heard the voices, the laughter, the silences as they kissed. And when they reached the top of the stairs, he tortured himself imagining, flayed himself as he’d flayed this small, dumb beast.
The light in the window behind him dimmed. They’d be together now, the duke and . . . and her—in bed. Tangled between the sheets. Rising and falling, bodies glowing with sweat.
And with each imagined thrust, Perry stabbed his hunting knife into the rabbit’s slack carcass.
“MY wife.” Lyle murmured the words in the darkness, holding her hand imprisoned against his chest. It wasn’t “I love you” but it was close.
She laid her head on his shoulder. His heart beat steadily now, not the tumultuous gallop as he’d taken her once more.
His slow deliberation tantalized and frustrated her. For the first time, she wondered if there was a difference between the way Lyle treated his mistress and the way he treated his wife.
Of course, she’d never thought of herself as his mistress—such a subservient role, belied by its name. They’d been lovers. Equals, or so she’d thought.
Then why the sudden change? Why did he think she deserved different treatment, now she was his wife?
She remembered him apologizing for their last encounter. He’d been ashamed that he’d treated her like a common trollop. He hadn’t said the ugly word, but she’d known what he meant.
Well, perhaps she was a trollop at heart. Because she’d enjoyed every second of that desperate, overwhelming possession.
Now their relationship had been legitimized, would there be no more hot, hard, urgent coupling—only this perfectly pleasant, yet somehow . . . restrained, lovemaking?
She glanced at him, so deep in slumber, so oblivious to her turmoil. The subject was far too delicate to broach without careful consideration.
Perhaps the easiest way to get the message across was not by words. Seduce him. Make him so hot for her, he abandoned his gentlemanly restraint.
She’d never been good at seduction. Hector’s flaccid, difficult performances were testament to that. But for the sake of rekindling that blaze of passion between her and Lyle, she’d swallow her pride and try.
Tomorrow, they left for Lyle Castle and a new life. As good a time as any to put her plan into action.
THE morning dawned clear and bright. Max kissed his sleeping wife’s bare shoulder and rose to go for his customary ride.
Riding always helped him think, and he needed to think this morning. Pleasurable as last night was, it had not been . . . entirely satisfying.
As soon as the thought popped into his head, he felt disloyal. But he couldn’t shake the impression that all was not right with Kate.
He hadn’t asked her about it. That wasn’t his way. Action, not conversation, had always been his strength. And the matter was far too sensitive to foul up by saying the wrong thing as he, with his man’s insensitivity, was bound to do.
He saddled his horse, a black stallion impatient for his morning run, and mounted. The stallion sidled and pranced, trying to unseat him, the devil, but Max brought him quickly under control.
He guided the stallion out of the stables and set the horse’s pace at a walk. He sensed the beast’s impatience to gallop, the powerful muscles bunched and ready to stretch. But until they gained open fields, Max reined him in, confining him to a walk.
Frustration radiated from the great beast. He’d not enjoyed a good gallop for days during his master’s absence, and he was as hot as he could hold. Max gave a rueful smile. Much as he’d been last night.
He couldn’t put his finger on what had gone wrong with Kate. The author of that diary was sensual and responsive. Creative, too, as far as her experience allowed.
Why, then, did he sense a strong reticence in her when they were in bed? She was no schoolroom miss, but a widow of experience. Albeit experience of a staid variety, if he judged the diary correctly.
Perhaps everything had happened too quickly. One minute, he was her captor, the next, her lover, and her husband soon after that. All in the space of a few days.
When the landscape opened to that undulating countryside so typical of the Leicestershire scene, Max loosed the reins and let his mount break into a canter. Soon, the stallion’s stride lengthened into a full-blown gallop.
But no matter how fast or hard he rode, Max couldn’t escape the niggling feeling that something was wrong. He needed to think, so having shaken the fidgets out of his horse, he turned down a lane and set off at an amble, to see where it would take him.
The scent of spring lay heavily in the air. The sun shone warmly, the breeze was cool, and soon he saw that the trail he’d taken ran along a small stream. He stopped and dismounted to let the stallion drink.
And it was then that the old awareness gripped him.
Someone was watching him.
He narrowed his eyes, scanning the rise of the bank behind him. A flash of movement to his right, behind
the fronds of a weeping willow, caught his eye.
Quick as thought, he launched himself through the willow branches and tackled the spy. Overpowering his captive with ease, he rolled the man over, pinned him with one knee and drew his fist back, ready to strike.
Guinea-gold hair and the face of an angel. Blue eyes full of shocked reproach.
Perry.
“Not you again!” Max gave a disgusted snort and got to his feet. “You’re going to get yourself killed one day if you keep creeping up on me like that.”
Perry sat up. “It’s a game I play. I’ve always played it. Watching you, following you, to see if you’ll detect me.”
A chill ran down Max’s spine. “How often do you play this game?”
“Often enough.” Perry kicked the turf with the toe of his boot. “I’m good at surveillance. Everything I know, I’ve learned from you.”
Max stared hard into the distance. He’d meant to have a talk with Perry, and now was his chance. He had a strong feeling this would be an emotional scene, the kind that he usually avoided at all costs.
But Perry was a man now, despite his youthful demeanor. He ought to be treated like one, not mollycoddled like an infant in leading strings. How else was he to learn to stand on his own?
“The duchess and I are leaving for Lyle today,” said Max gruffly. “The threat against her has been removed, so she no longer needs protection. And the vicar, Mr. Holt, has divulged the whereabouts of the rebels who committed the arson at Lyle. I shall soon have them under lock and key.”
He paused. “It seems that you and I have come to a parting of ways, Perry.” He held out his hand.
“No!” Perry burst out, ignoring Max’s gesture. “I can’t believe that. I cannot believe that after all I’ve done, you’d leave me—”
Max wanted to shake the boy, but he said, “Now, lad, you knew I wouldn’t stay at the Home Office beyond this case. With the dukedom, I have vast responsibilities to attend to. And your feet are firmly planted on the ladder at Whitehall—”
The Dangerous Duke Page 22
