She could tell her sudden boldness had surprised him. He was still at first. Then his hand settled into the small of her back, drawing her closer to him, pulling her body up on to his chest. Then, everything about him seemed to relax, his mouth falling open against hers, his tongue easing into her mouth to caress hers.
Such kisses had always seemed like an invasion. But this was very different. Will Felkirk’s touch was gentle, as though he were learning her from the inside out. She probed gently in response. It was different to respond. She did not feel desire so much as curiosity. What harm would it do to indulge that, as long as it kept him from asking any more questions?
He tasted different. The shape of his mouth was different as well. She could feel the playfulness of his smile, the fullness of his lips and the smoothness of his cheekbone as she stroked it. She moved her hands lower, to his bare chest, which was no longer as sunken and hollow as it had felt while he slept. With a little sunlight and solid food, the health was coming back to him. His heart beat fast and strong under her fingers. She could feel it beating even faster as she touched him. And there, on his arm, was the strange smooth skin of the burn scar.
While she might admit that the duke was the more handsome of the two brothers, he was a trifle too perfect to look at. This man, with the crease in his skull and the scars on his body, was so much more real and she knew him almost too well.
He sighed at her touch and his kisses became a sudden opening and closing of his lips as though he was taking a bite of fruit. Then he sighed again, in satisfaction as if he needed her to feel complete, as one might need air or food.
She stilled for a moment, not sure she liked it. She understood being desired. She understood what it was to be used. She had understood his need when he was too helpless to care for himself. But now the feeling was different. She wanted him to be stronger for her help, not more dependant.
Suppose, when she finally managed to escape from this place, she left him feeling less than whole. She had expected to lose some of herself by this joining. But suppose she grew to depend on him? She could not afford such feelings, if she was ever in her life to be free.
Perhaps it was simply that it had been so long since lying with a man that she had forgotten how to behave. The trick was to disengage one’s mind from the activity, so that it might be somewhere else, while the body acted. She tried it now and found it strangely ineffective. The feel of his skin under her hand, was too real to ignore. Instead of hiding from it, she wanted to lose more of herself to him, to be more deeply entwined. In a daring moment, she ran her hand down his chest, following the trail of hair on his belly until it slipped beneath the sheet to grip him.
He inhaled sharply at the touch, taking her tongue more deeply into his mouth.
This was interesting. She had never felt this sense of control before. She took advantage, running a fingertip lightly across the opening at the head of his member.
He pulled away, ‘I do not think...’ Though his member stirred at her touch, his body moved weakly under hers, a reminder that he was still not fully recovered.
She had but to release him, with an apology for her forwardness. She would be safe from intimacy for another night, or more. Perhaps he would even let her return to her room. Instead, she kissed his lips again and murmured, ‘Let me.’ Then she moved her hand on him.
As she watched, he settled back into the pillows, but did not relax. His eyes were shut tightly, his mouth shut so tightly that his lips went white. Did her touch hurt him? She thought not, for he made no move to stop her. His nostrils flared as he took a slow steady breath as though struggling to maintain control of his own body and prolong the climax.
Did she really affect him so? The idea that she could award or deny his happiness with a single touch was exhilarating. She gripped him tighter, stroking slowly from root to tip, and felt him growing under her fingers.
He was longer and thicker than she’d expected. Silky skin stretched tight over blood and muscle, growing slippery with the first drops of his seed. She wondered what it would be like when he entered her. Probably not as pleasant as she was imagining. In her experience, real life seldom lived up to imagination.
But the current moment was satisfying enough. As she moved her hand on him, his whole body seemed to tighten, tension building like a coiled spring. His eyes were open again, head had arched back so that he could stare at the ceiling and his lips worked, almost as though praying. In this moment, he was hers in a way that no man had ever been. It made her wish that she could keep him. Or, at least, that she could keep pretending for a lifetime.
She used his vulnerability to kiss his exposed throat, running teeth and tongue along the tendons until she heard the hitch in his breath. Then she released him, just for a second, to raise the hem of her nightdress, brushing him with the picot edging he had found so intriguing.
He shuddered at the contact. She changed her grip, wrapping him in the linen, and tightening her hand to finish him. Beneath her, his whole body jerked and his breath released in a moan. Then, as she had expected, he lost control and sagged helpless back on to the mattress.
She lay still against him, her palm flat against his chest, waiting until he had stopped trembling and his heartbeat began to slow again. Then she rubbed him gently with the linen, rolled away from him and stood to pull the soiled gown over her head and drop it on the floor beside her discarded nightcap.
She glanced at it with a frown. Should she summon a maid, or search in her own bureau for a replacement? She did not normally like sleeping bare. The vulnerability of it was so distressing that she could not rest easy. But tonight felt different. She stretched her arms above her head, noting the pull of muscle and skin, feeling stronger and more confident than before. She smoothed a hand over breast and belly, surprised at how warm they felt. Then she turned towards the connecting door between the rooms.
‘Stay.’
She looked back at Will, surprised. How could she have forgotten that he was there, just behind her, watching this shameless display of her body?
But she had nothing to fear. There was no avarice in his gaze. His look held more wonder than lust. He reached out a hand to her, as though to stop her departure. ‘Come back to bed. We need do nothing more. But sleep here tonight, at my side.’
‘Very well,’ she said. She came back to the bed and climbed beneath the covers, letting him gather her close. In less than a sigh, he was asleep.
She lay awake beside him, surprised at how relaxing it was to share a bed with William Felkirk. She dreaded those nights that Montague expected it of her, for it invariably meant that she would be wakened at some point and required to service him.
But judging by the slight snore that escaped his parted lips, the man at her side now was not likely to wake. His arm wrapped loosely around her, his thigh brushing her leg. But the limbs were as relaxed and heavy as they had been as he’d lain in a coma.
This feeling of skin against skin was a new thing as well. She ought to be frightened, lying hip to hip with a stranger. But this was more decadent than disturbing. She yawned. Perhaps this was what it was like to be a courtesan, taking and discarding lovers without a second thought.
Or perhaps it was how she’d have felt, had she been a wife.
The thought was gone as quickly as it had come, for she was slipping away, into a dark and peaceful sleep.
Chapter Ten
When Will awoke the next morning, she was gone from his bed. Perhaps last night’s release was what he had needed. It was the first real rest he’d had since waking from the coma. He’d slept so soundly that he had no idea whether she’d stayed as he asked.
He rather hoped she had. His dreams had been deliciously lurid, opium-drenched fantasies of some Turkish paradise where he reclined on a pillow while a nubile woman ministered to his every need.
He grinned. What he had thought of as a dream was very close to what had actually happened. She had seemed so prim when she came to him in her plain gown and cap. Then she had kissed him soundly and taken him to heaven with a single hand. After, she’d stripped naked at his bedside and stretched like a satisfied cat.
Was it any wonder that he had dreamed of paradise? When he closed his eyes he could still see her high, full breasts bobbing above a narrow waist and hips that made a man long to hold on to them. What had he been thinking, to invite her to bed so that they might simply talk? She had pleasured him to the point where it had not mattered in the slightest who she was or where she’d come from. His only concern had been that she continue until she had finished.
* * *
When he came down to breakfast, she was already there. He should not have been surprised. He thought himself an early riser, but she seemed to pride herself on being ahead of him. The post had come and she had kept a single letter for herself and arranged the rest at his place. Then she made sure that his plate and cup were prepared just as he would like it.
Today, instead of greeting her with a curt nod, he went to her side and kissed her lightly on the cheek. He glanced down at the paper in front of her.
He frowned. Despite what had happened between them, she still seemed to stiffen at the touch of his lips and shift nervously away as though fearing a blow. Her movement obscured the note, which had all but disappeared beneath her plate. Then she relaxed into the passive doll he had come to expect. ‘Good morning, William,’ she said dutifully.
‘And good morning to you, my dear.’ And where have you gone? It was not as if he expected her to arrive at the table like a slave in a harem, attired in nothing but scarves. But when he looked at her, he’d expected to find some sign of the change between them.
She glanced down at the paper peeping out from beneath her breakfast plate. ‘If you are wondering about the letter, it is a note from a friend of my parents, congratulating me upon our marriage. I will answer it after breakfast.’
‘Of course,’ he said. It was not so unusual that she had friends, nor that they would correspond with her. But since she had not mentioned them before, he had flattered himself that he was her entire world. It did him no credit that he felt jealous of the person who wrote to her and the time she would spend on them. ‘And you will write to your sister as we discussed?’
Her expression, which had been pensive, changed to a brief, radiant smile. Then it faded to the more sedate half-smile she usually wore. ‘If you still wish me to, I would like that.’
It was as if the sun had come out from behind a cloud only to disappear again. He grinned at her, hoping to remind her of the previous night. ‘Of course I still wish it. And if there is anything else that will make you smile as you have just done, you must ask immediately. On such a fine morning as this, I could deny you nothing.’
She glanced at the window, as though expecting to see a change in the weather. ‘I thought it rather chill, when I was walking.’ She looked back at him, giving no indication that she understood the reason for his happiness could be traced back to last night. She held out his cup, ‘Coffee?’
He took his usual seat and accepted the cup. ‘Thank you.’ Perhaps it was an ordinary thing for her, or had been so before the accident. If that was true, then damn him for forgetting so much. He leaned closer to her, catching her eye and smiling. ‘And thank you for last night as well.’
The delightful pink of her cheeks clashed with the reds in her hair. ‘You are welcome.’ She glanced down at the table. Toast?’ She pushed the toast rack closer to his plate, as though appeasing one appetite would make him forget the other.
He ignored her offer of bread and continued on his original topic. ‘I enjoyed what you did for me, very much,’ he said, thinking the words oddly polite. But they seemed a match for her reserved response.
‘I am glad,’ she said, sending the marmalade pot after the toast with a nudge of her finger.
He ignored that as well. ‘Did you enjoy it as well?’
To this, she gave him an odd look, as though it had not occurred to her to have an opinion about it. ‘It makes me happy when you are happy.’ Then the placid smile returned.
‘That is not what I asked,’ he said. ‘I want to know if you enjoyed touching me.’
She glanced around her, as if to remind him that they were in the breakfast room, not the bedroom. She looked down at her plate as though trying to decide if it might be possible to pretend she had not heard. She took up her knife and fork and began slicing the sausage on it into ever smaller bites. Then, as if she’d noticed what she had done to the rather significantly shaped meat, she set down her utensils with a clatter and said, in a rush of words, ‘Enjoyed it? Of course. Why should I not? You are my husband, after all, and it is my goal...’
‘To make me happy,’ he finished. ‘That brings us back to where we began.’ He pushed the toast rack out of the way and reached for one of her hands, holding it gently in his and noticing how cold the fingers were. ‘It is not that I object to being happy. But I assume, when I married you, that I wanted you to be happy as well. Surely I said something of the kind.’ He hoped that it was true. This morning, she was acting almost as if she was afraid of him.
She blinked at him, as though the details of their past were as murky to her as they were to him. Then she glanced down at their joined hands with an expression of such modesty and beauty that he wanted to capture it in oils. ‘Of course, my love. It is just that I do not want to seem less than grateful for all you and your family have done for me. Your offer last night, to allow me to send for Margot...’ She looked up hopefully, as though fearing he meant to retract it in the cold light of day.
‘Grateful?’ Was that why she had been so affectionate? It was oddly annoying to think that her treatment of him had been some sort of a reward for a perfectly normal offer of hospitality. ‘You needn’t be, over such a small thing. Where else would you sister stay, if not with us? If you pine for her company, then you shall have it.’
‘I do. Very much so.’ Her smile returned, and for a moment he was afraid that she might cry. Or stranger still, that she might repeat her behaviour of the previous evening and sink to her knees before him during breakfast. Exciting though the idea was, it was rather alarming to think of her putting a hand in his breeches each time she wanted a favour.
‘Then it is what I wish as well,’ he said carefully. ‘For I want to see you happy, just as you wish to see me happy.’
She nodded, as though all was settled.
‘But I wish that your happiness, last night and in nights to come, can be separate from the thought of your sister’s visit. It is quite a different thing, you see.’
‘Of course it is,’ she said, nodding. But there was something in her tone that announced she had no idea what he was talking about. What kind of a selfish beast had he been, if he had not taught her that the bedroom was a place to seek mutual pleasure? This obtuse behaviour on her part was almost enough to set his mind to doubting again. It did not sound like him, at all.
At least, it did not sound like the sort of husband and lover he had wished to be. But how was he to know, really? His experience thus far had been limited to the sort of women who knew what they wanted in bed, even if it was only to pretend satisfaction in exchange for jewellery and rent.
Did gently bred virgins behave in the same way? Were they taught to submit to their husbands and trade favour for favour like courtesans? Did no one speak to them of the pleasure of the act? Perhaps it was his job to teach that particular lesson. The prospect of that made him want to grin like an idiot. Instead, he smiled at her with as much kindness and gentleness as he could muster, then leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek again. ‘Tonight, I shall demonstrate what I mean.’
‘Oh.’ It was but one word. But she said it in a tone that s
aid, oh, dear. Or, worse yet, oh dear, you needn’t bother. If he had not seen her on the previous evening, totally in control of both his body and her own nerves, he’d have thought she was frightened.
‘For now, let us finish our breakfast,’ he said, dismissing the subject until later. ‘I will leave you alone so you might go to the morning room and write letters to your friend and to your sister.’
With that, the relieved smile returned to her face as though it had never left.
* * *
He expected something of her.
Justine was not sure what it was that he had wanted, but it seemed some display of happiness was in order. Clearly, he did not understand how difficult it was to appear pleasant and at ease when one was already holding a paper full of admonishments on how she must behave if she was to ferret out the Felkirk family secrets. In his note, Montague had approved of the move to this house, since it was most likely to hold what they were looking for.
But he had also hinted that he would expect a detailed accounting of her activities when next they met in the woods. She rather feared that was more than just a description of the rooms she had searched and what she might have uncovered in them. He would want to know exactly what had transpired in the bedroom with Will.
Of course, Will seemed to want to talk of that as well. What was wrong with men, that they could not put what happened in the bedroom firmly in the past, as she meant to do? His kisses were nice, of course. She especially liked the little ones he had given her in the breakfast room, as though it were a matter of course to remind her of his feelings throughout the day.
But she wished he would stop. Small kisses only made her think of other, more intimate ones and the feel of his skin under her hand. It felt nice, just as the kisses did. But it would all lead to the same place in the end, where he had all the control and she had none. Badgering her about her own happiness was unnecessary. Life was what it was. Even the difficult bits went more smoothly if one did not brood on one’s feelings from moment to moment.
The Truth About Lady Felkirk Page 10
