In the Spinster's Bed

by Sally MacKenzie

  Except he’s here in Loves Bridge.

  Did she really want her life to go on as it had been, day after day, always the same?

  Always alone.

  Yes. That’s what everyone was, at heart: Alone. It was good to depend on yourself and no one else. To do otherwise gave people too much power to hurt you.

  She looked down. Good heavens, Poppy was glaring at her.

  You don’t understand. You’re a cat, for God’s sake. I can’t do it. I know I said I might, but that was before, when he was gone. Now that he’s here . . . If I go to him, it will kill me when he leaves. It almost killed me twenty years ago.

  Poppy kept glaring, her tail twitching.

  “When do you go back to London?” Yes. Remember, he’s only here briefly. In a short time—perhaps only a few days—I’ll be at peace again.

  He looked at her, his eyes dark and tight with pain. Bleak.

  Her heart clenched. At peace? No. Or only the peace that death brings.

  She’d been getting up in the morning and going to bed at night, going through all the motions of life, but she’d been dead inside. Even a short time with William was worth the ache of years without him.

  He blew out a long breath and grimaced. “I don’t know. I came here to hide from the gossips, Belle, but the gossips are still in Town. Hortense’s death didn’t stop their tongues.” His shoulders slumped. “And, more to the point, there’s nothing for me there. I’m so tired of the ton and their intrigues.”

  And I am tired of existing rather than living. I want to be fearless again, as fearless as I was as a girl. William needs me. I can’t be afraid.

  She crossed the distance separating them and touched his arm. “Why did you come to see me, William?”

  He stared down at her, his jaw clenched. She saw him swallow, saw his nostrils flare—and then she saw tears film his eyes.

  “Oh, William.” She wrapped her arms around him.

  “Belle.” It sounded as if her name was wrenched from his lips. He crushed her against him so she could barely breathe. “Belle. Oh, God, Belle.” He buried his face in her hair.

  “It’s all right.” She had to whisper, he was holding her so tightly. “It’s all right.” She rubbed his back. His body was taut as a bowstring.

  Finally, he shuddered and let her go, pulling his handkerchief out quickly, but not before she saw his eyes were red. He looked away as he blew his nose.

  “Would you like a glass of brandy, William?”

  One brow rose, but the effect was rather spoiled by the blotches on his face. “You have brandy?”

  She nodded and took his arm, leading him to the uncomfortable red settee. Thank God the shutters were closed. All she needed was for the Misses Boltwood to catch sight of him in her sitting room. “One of the earlier spinsters—or perhaps Isabelle Dorring herself—was very fond of spirits.”

  She gave him a little push to get him to sit and then went to fetch the brandy and a glass. When she came back, Poppy was sprawled next to him.

  “Only one glass?” His hand shook just a little as he took it from her.

  “I don’t drink.”

  “Never? Come, sit down.” He scooped Poppy up and put her on his lap. Surprisingly, Poppy didn’t protest.

  “Hardly ever.” She perched on the edge of the settee. This was probably closer than she should be to him now. It was one thing to be brave. It was quite another to be stupid. “Has it gone bad?”

  William tasted it. “No. It’s quite good, actually.” He held the brandy out to her. “Here. Try a little.”

  “All right.” She took a cautious sip. Warmth filled her mouth and slid down her throat. The tight, nervous feeling in her stomach began to ease. She took another sip.

  She already felt a bit fearless.

  Or perhaps it was reckless.

  “Good?”

  She nodded and glanced down at Poppy. Blast it, Poppy looked very snug and content and blissful with William’s strong fingers rubbing her ears. It made her—

  Good God, I’m jealous of a cat.

  William spread his free arm out along the back of the settee. “There’s no need to sit on the edge of the seat like that, Belle. Come closer.” He smiled faintly. “You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

  “I’m not afraid of you.” I’m afraid of myself.

  She slid next to him, and then his arm pulled her even closer, so she was pressed against his side. It felt wonderful. She relaxed even more.

  They sat that way for a while and then William broke the silence.

  “I realized, as I watched Hortense die, Belle, how much to blame I was for her suffering.”

  She stiffened. What? William could not think himself at fault! “No. I read about her, er, activities in the gossip columns. You didn’t force her to go to those awful parties or to behave in such a scandalous manner.”

  He sighed. “In a way I did. I was neither kind nor understanding, especially at the beginning of our marriage, when it might have made a difference. If I had only—”

  She put her fingers on his lips, stopping him. “No. You are giving yourself too much credit. Each of us chooses our own path. Surely not every London lady with an unkind husband lives a notorious life.”

  He frowned. “I should have done better.”

  “We all have regrets, things we’d do differently if we had the opportunity. You were very young when you married.”

  Do I regret what I did with William all those years ago?

  No. Even with the pain and the loss, I’d not change a thing.

  “I was nineteen,” William said. “Nineteen is quite old enough to ruin one’s life.”

  “You did not ruin your life. It just went in a direction you hadn’t planned.” As hers had. “You learned things you wouldn’t have learned had you made different choices.”

  He snorted.

  “William, the past can’t be changed. We can only live in the present.”

  William is here, and he is no longer married. I can comfort him, and he can comfort me.

  She rested her head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent. William. The only times in her entire life that she hadn’t felt alone were the times she’d spent with him.

  Need swirled low in her stomach.

  He brushed his lips across her forehead. “Tired?”

  “Mmm. I think I’d like to go to bed.”

  Poppy blinked at her, and then jumped off William’s lap to run up the stairs.

  “Then I’ll see you tomorrow.” William stood and pulled her up. “Thank you for listening.”

  She wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “Don’t go.”

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I want you to stay with me tonight. If you want to, that is. If you’re ready to.” She stroked his cheek. “I want to love you.”

  And then she stretched up to kiss him on the mouth.

  Zeus! The touch of Belle’s lips sent need flashing through him like lightning, followed immediately by a thunderous boom of lust. He pulled her up against his—

  No.

  He didn’t want her to think this was what he had come to her for. He’d sought her out not to ease his body but his mind.

  And perhaps his soul.

  He loosened his hold and looked into her face. Some of her hair had come out of its pins. He tucked it behind her ear and forced himself to smile. “You are the spinster of the Spinster House, remember? You have sworn off men.”

  “I’m a spinster, but I never swore off men.” She pressed her cheek against his chest. “I never swore off you.”

  His will was weakening.

  “Belle.” He sounded a bit desperate to his own ears. “I came here only to see you and talk to you.” And to hold her, yes. But bedding her had not been in his plans. He was very sure of that. “I had no other intention.”

  She met his gaze squarely, her arms still wrapped around him. “I know.”

  “I’m not asking—”

&
nbsp; Her jaw hardened. “I know.”

  “Then what is this about?” Good God, did she think—? He broke her hold on him and stepped back. “I am not a charity case. I don’t need your pity.” Bloody hell, the notion was nauseating.

  “And I’m not offering it. I want this.” She was scowling at him, but he’d swear there was hurt in her eyes, too. “The last time you were here, you were bound by your marriage vows. Now you are not. I’m lonely. I think you are, too. What harm can there be in two friends finding comfort in each other?”

  He’d never looked for comfort in a woman’s bed before, beyond the obvious comfort of physical release.

  “We used to have something wonderful, didn’t we, William?”

  “Yes.” Oh, God, yes. He’d felt such deep pleasure and peace in those few weeks at Benton.

  “Let’s see if we can find it again.”

  What could be the harm? Belle was right—he wasn’t bound by any vows. He’d been very careful not to be observed when he’d entered the Spinster House. Belle’s reputation shouldn’t be at risk.

  I should marry Belle before I bed her.

  But Belle wasn’t asking for a parson’s blessing. She never had.

  He was here now, and he was lonely, so very lonely. “You’re certain?”

  She smiled. “I have never been more certain of a thing in my life.”

  “You won’t change your mind at the last minute like you did last time? I don’t want to go through that again.”

  “I won’t change my mind.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. Emotion flooded him—relief, lust, anticipation, desire, need, thankfulness, and something that felt oddly like reverence.

  Ridiculous. There was nothing reverent in what he was about to do. He grinned. He intended the interlude to be deeply, satisfyingly carnal.

  “Then I accept your invitation gladly.”

  They almost ran up the stairs to Belle’s bedchamber. Poppy was there before them, but she jumped down from the bed to curl up on the chair when they came in.

  “I think Poppy has given us her blessing,” he whispered as he pulled out the rest of Belle’s hairpins. Her nimble fingers were already undoing his waistcoat.

  “She’s a very wise animal.” Belle tugged his shirt free of his breeches.

  They scrambled out of their clothes. When they were finally naked, he gathered her into his arms, running his hands down her back, pressing her body against his. No woman had ever felt this good.

  “Let’s go to bed, William.” Belle kissed the underside of his jaw and flexed her hips against his cock. Her voice was seductive and breathless with the same need that raged through him.

  “Yes.” He jerked back the coverlet and lifted her to sit on the high mattress. Then he spread her knees and stepped between them so he could see and touch all of her. “God, Belle, you are so beautiful.”

  She flushed—he could see all of that, too—and tried to cover herself. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.” He caught her hands and pushed them aside. “Don’t hide.”

  She frowned—and then smiled. “You’re right. I’m not going to hide any longer—or at least not here with you.” She leaned forward, kissing his chest and running her hands over his arse. “And you’re beautiful, too.”

  He laughed and traced one of her breasts with his finger, watching the nipple pebble—and he heard Belle make a little sound. “You’re purring like Poppy.”

  She smiled a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been envying her your touch.”

  “Have you? And I’ve been longing to stroke you, though in a rather different fashion.” He ran his hands down her body, cupping her breasts, tracing the curve of her waist, sliding over her thighs to the soft curls between them. He slipped one finger inside . . .

  “Oh. Oh, William!” Belle tried to close her knees, but his body kept her open to him.

  “You are so wet. So hot. So ready for me.”

  “Oh.” Her breath came in little pants. “Yes.” She pulled him closer, her tongue slipping out to moisten her lips. “Now. Please.”

  Yes, now. He needed to bury himself in Belle as much as he needed to breathe. He’d never felt this intensity before.

  No, that wasn’t right. He had felt it before—twenty years before, on his father’s estate when he’d first loved this woman. His need for her went beyond the physical.

  He joined her on the bed, kissing her, all of her—her lips, her throat, her breasts, her belly, her nether curls—

  “William! What are you doing?”

  That’s right. His passionate Belle was a spinster now. He could tell by the way the other villagers treated her—and the Boltwood sisters talked about her—that she’d lived as a virgin. He should go slowly.

  He wasn’t sure he could.

  “I’m loving you, Belle. Loving all of you.” He ran his tongue over her cleft, tasting her, inhaling her wonderful musky scent. Zeus. She was like no other woman. “God, how I’ve missed you.”

  His cock was going to explode if he didn’t hurry.

  He couldn’t hurry. Belle deserved a slow, thorough loving. And he wasn’t a boy this time. This time he would be careful. They’d been terribly lucky she hadn’t conceived when they’d done this before.

  Though if she had . . .

  Father would have been furious, but surely he would have allowed us to wed if I’d insisted.

  Would I have insisted?

  He shrugged the question off. As Belle had said, the past couldn’t be changed. It was the present that mattered.

  He paused to look into her face, promising himself as much as her, “I won’t put you at risk, Belle. I’ll pull out in time.”

  She smiled—or her lips smiled. Her eyes were sad. “It’s all right, William. I’m thirty-seven years old. I can’t conceive.”

  He frowned. “Thirty-seven isn’t ancient. You still have your courses, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but . . .” She looked away. “My mother couldn’t have children either, you know.” She gave him a wobbly smile. “Except for me.”

  “Ah.” He should be happy she was barren, but he wasn’t. Belle would have made a wonderful mother. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “It makes things less complicated now.”

  It did, but some things should be complicated. “Belle—”

  She touched her fingers to his lips. “Let’s not talk about it, William. Let’s not talk about anything.” She smiled, though there was still a lingering sorrow in her eyes. “Let’s just love each other.”

  His mind wanted to argue, but his body urged him to agree. They could talk later.

  She ran her hand down his chest and brushed her fingers over his cock.

  His body won.

  He kissed her, kissed her lips and her neck and her beautiful breasts. He made her gasp and moan and arch up for him. He did all the things he did to pleasure women, but this time was different. This wasn’t some willing female in bed with him. This was Belle. Generous, wild, intelligent, kind, fearless Belle.

  This time his heart was involved as much as his cock. Belle’s warmth melted a part of him he hadn’t realized was frozen. Her joy in their play healed a festering wound. And when he finally slid deep into her body, he felt as if he had come home.

  Chapter Seven

  May 18, 1797—Mother’s relative, Mrs. Conklin, has taken me in, but I can’t stay here long. Father was right. She is a whore, but she’s far more Christian than he is.

  —from Belle Frost’s diary

  Belle clung to sleep. She was having the most amazing dream. A man’s large, warm hand cupped her breast. A thumb brushed over her nipple, sending heat and need streaking through her. She wanted—

  “Good morning, Belle.” The words were whispered by her ear.

  William. He was still here. She hadn’t imagined last night. She turned to face him.

  He smiled, his face more relaxed than she’d seen it since he’d come to Loves Bridge.

  “Good morni
ng.” She ran her finger over his cheek. It was rough with stubble. In all the times they’d coupled at Benton, they had never slept together. She’d never seen him unshaven. It felt surprisingly intimate.

  His expression suddenly sharpened. He was looking at—

  Oh, yes. She was still naked under the coverlet. She ran her hand down his cheek and chin and neck to his shoulder.

  He was still naked, too.

  Desire smoldered, hardening her nipples, softening the place between her legs. She must have whimpered a little because he closed the small space between them to touch his lips to hers.

  It was like a spark to tinder. Everything—every hesitation, every thought—turned to smoke, leaving only the burning need to join herself to him. She opened her mouth, put a hand on the back of his head to hold him close, and pressed her body against his, hooking her top leg over his hip. She slid her other hand down and touched his cock. It was heavy and thick and long, and she wanted it inside her.

  Now.

  He obliged. In one fluid motion, he pushed her onto her back and buried himself deep inside her, sliding all the way to her womb. She started to come apart the moment he entered, intense waves of pleasure radiating from her core. Then, as that sensation began to ebb, she felt his body’s answer—his warm seed pulsing into her.

  If only it could take root again.

  I should tell him. He deserves to know about the baby.

  Why? It had happened twenty years ago. There was no need to spoil this very lovely moment with the past.

  He collapsed on top of her. “Woman, you will be the death of me if that is how you intend to greet me every morning.”

  She ran a hand down his sweaty back. Was she going to greet him every morning?

  She would not spoil the present with thoughts of the future either. Instead she kissed him slowly and thoroughly—and felt his cock begin to stir again.

  He pulled out. “Oh, no, none of that, you seductive witch.” He kissed her nose. “Poppy is glaring at us. I think we’ve overslept.”

  Overslept? “Oh, no!” She bolted upright. Poppy was indeed glaring at them from the chair by the window. “What time is it?”

  “Half past eight.”