A Matter of temptation- The Lost Lords Trilogy 02

by Lorraine Heath

  “Why?”

  “Because you were so confident, so sure of your place.”

  “Yes, well, maybe I shouldn’t have been…so sure of my place, that is.”

  “But that’s one of the things I admire about you. You never doubt a single decision, a single action.”

  “Trust me, Torie. I have a good many doubts.”

  Leaning back in his chair, he studied her as though she held the answer to whatever it was he sought. “I have concerns that, in time, your feelings toward me will change.”

  She laughed lightly. “Of course, they’ll change. They’ll deepen as we spend more time together, as we come to know each other better.” She reached across the table and placed her hand over his where it rested on the table. “I want to know you better.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat as he snatched his hand away from hers and came to his feet.

  “You must forgive me, but I am not in the habit of sharing myself, my feelings, my thoughts,” he said quietly, combing his fingers through his hair, a look of bewilderment flashing over his face as though he was surprised by what his hand encountered. “Therefore getting to know me better will not be an option. I need to attend to other matters at this precise moment. I suggest you see to your own comfort before joining me at the coach. I wish for us to be away as quickly as possible.” He gave a brisk nod. “If you will excuse me?”

  Swallowing hard, she nodded.

  “I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t tarry.”

  And with that, he left the room, leaving her confused and trembling. Whatever had she done to earn his displeasure?

  As for not sharing, well, he certainly had up until this morning. His comment made no sense. How could an exchange of vows so drastically change a man?

  Chapter 7

  R obert couldn’t seem to bring himself to look away from his wife, even as he wished he could erase the memory of her stunned expression, her disappointment in his response. Her thinking that she would come to know him better assumed that she knew him at all—which she didn’t. She knew John, and she would soon know John better. Perhaps he should tell her the truth of the situation. But to her he would be an impostor. He wanted to talk to her, desperately, but he feared discovery of his deception—he was the rightful duke but not the man she thought she was marrying.

  It had been easier for John to imitate Robert because he’d been around to see how Robert acted, to whom Robert spoke, how he addressed people and they addressed him. Robert was lost, drowning in a sea of unknowns.

  Even the most innocent statement, uttered without complete thought, could betray him.

  They’d not spoken once since she’d joined him and the coach had sprung forward to continue the journey. Her gaze was locked constantly on the scenery beyond the window. Even as darkness fell, she’d provided him with only glimpses of her profile as the evening shadows began to work their way into the coach. Eventually she’d removed her hat and set it aside.

  Upsetting her seemed to have had the effect of silencing her. Now she seemed like a wounded creature, nursing its injuries. He desperately wanted to apologize, but this way was better, and in the end, she would be grateful that he had sought to distance himself.

  Her profile was lovely, but what did he expect when her face was that of an angel? An angel who had married the very devil himself.

  A part of him thought he should despise her on that fact alone. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel anything except…enchanted by her loveliness.

  Her scent should have faded away by now, but it still lingered. The moonlight limned her perfect profile. He watched as she lowered her head slightly, then jerked it upright. Falling asleep, trying to stay awake.

  He contemplated telling her to give in to the weariness, but he feared she might say something about other journeys they’d made together, and how would he respond then? He didn’t remember the night he met her because he hadn’t met her at night, hadn’t met her at a ball, and he certainly hadn’t been confident when he had met her.

  Once they were at Hawthorne House, they would be situated in different wings—he would no doubt have to come up with an explanation for that circumstance. He could pretend to be ill, but what if she wished to nurse him back to health?

  Damnation! She was a complication he didn’t need.

  And how to explain his unwillingness to bed her? Only it wasn’t an unwillingness. He was most willing indeed.

  His body ached for the surcease a woman’s body could offer. He found himself drawn to this woman, even though he had no wish to be.

  She finally dropped her head to the side and allowed it to stay there. He’d spent many a night sleeping in an uncomfortable position, and he knew, come morning, she would suffer because of the odd angle at which she now slept.

  It was none of his concern. She was none of his concern. An inconvenience only.

  Still, he found himself moving her hat from her bench to his. He eased across the space separating them, until he was sitting beside her. He closed his eyes and remembered the many journeys he’d made with his parents, the times his father had placed his arm around his mother and drawn her near until she was resting comfortably against his side. It had seemed such a natural thing for his father to do, but he had loved his wife, and it often seemed that they communicated without speaking.

  Robert barely knew this woman, had no earthly idea how she would fit against him, but he did know that it was his haste to get home that was responsible for the awkward position of her body now. It was hardly fair that she should suffer for his inconsideration. He should have allowed them to stop at an inn for the night.

  As gently as he could, he placed one arm around her while using his other hand to gently hold her head steady as he tipped her toward him until her face was nestled within the crook of his shoulder. Perfectly. As though it belonged there.

  He held his breath as she released a hushed murmur and burrowed more closely against him. She was warm, so incredibly warm, and so dainty. She must weigh no more than a feather. With his hand still resting against her cheek, he couldn’t resist the temptation to stroke her skin. Soft and silky. Flawless.

  The oddest thing. His eyes began to sting. He blinked several times until the sensation went away. He’d not even contemplate that he might have been on the verge of weeping at the comfort such an innocent touch could bring.

  “Robert?”

  He stiffened at the sound of her voice, as soft as a caress in the dark.

  “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to displease you,” she said, her voice so low that he barely heard it.

  Slamming his eyes closed, he laid his cheek against the top of her head, once again feeling that unaccustomed stinging behind his eyes.

  “You haven’t displeased me, Torie.”

  “You seem so different.”

  Tell her; tell her the truth. The perfect opportunity had been laid in his lap, so to speak. Her. Here. Yet as soon as he revealed everything—that he was not the man who’d asked for her hand in marriage—she would move away, completely and forever. What would it hurt to savor just a few more moments with her in his arms?

  “May I make a confession?” she whispered.

  A confession? One as innocent as she? What could she possibly confess? That she only pretended to eat her vegetables?

  “Of course,” he murmured.

  “I was thinking this morning that our wedding had arrived too soon, before I was ready. I thought you read in my eyes the doubts I was harboring at the church.”

  “I saw no doubt.”

  “It’s simply that I realized this morning that we’ve had no time to get to know each other without the company of others. You’ve never even kissed me properly.”

  “Have I not?”

  She didn’t look at him as she said, her voice lower, “No.”

  “Should I remedy that situation, do you think?”

  Th
e words escaped before he had a chance to think them through. He felt her barely perceptible nod in the nook of his shoulder.

  Then she was turning her face up to his. She was little more than shadows, captured by an occasional beam of moonlight dancing in through the window. He couldn’t read her expression, and perhaps that was for the best, because neither could she read his.

  He cradled her cheek and skimmed his thumb over her mouth. “It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a lady,” he rasped, “but I believe I remember the basics.”

  “I’ve never kissed a man.”

  Groaning low at her admission, he was acutely aware of her lips parting slightly, her tongue grazing his thumb, and he knew he was on the verge of making a dreadful mistake, but he seemed unable to stop himself.

  He lowered his mouth to hers.

  He’d never known such softness as her lips shaped themselves to match his. Or warmth as she opened her mouth, allowing him entry. The blinding heat shot through him, as he explored her offering with his tongue, darting thrusting, relishing the velvety textures as much as the rougher ones.

  He angled his head to get a more comfortable fit and was immediately greeted by a waft of her perfume—from behind her ear, and he envisioned her delicately placing the droplet there. He thought about kissing the spot but didn’t want to leave her mouth unattended, a mouth that had teased him all day with hints of smiles and bits of conversation. A mouth that could create a dimple upon command. He thought about kissing the dimple as well, thought about kissing every inch of her, and even as he thought it, he knew it could never be.

  He was taking liberties to which he had no right, but she had invited him to kiss her, and he’d gone too long without invitations to turn one away when it was delivered by such a lovely lady and presented with such enticement. And so he took what she offered and fought back the guilt. It was only a kiss, after all.

  Only a kiss.

  The thought made it seem insignificant, when it was anything but. It washed over him and through him, and filled the empty vastness of his heart that had been alone for far too long. It drew him away from the darkness of despair with a bold sweep of her tongue. She wasn’t shy. She gave far more than she took, boldly setting a path that he thought would lead directly to her heart.

  A heart she’d reserved for his brother.

  He deepened his exploration, relishing her warmth, tasting her sweetness. At this moment she was his—wife, his duchess, his seducer.

  He pulled back slightly, pressing a kiss to one corner of her mouth, then the other. He nestled her face back into the crook of her shoulder, listened to her rapid breathing, and the thundering of his blood between his ears.

  Ah, yes, he’d made another ghastly mistake.

  “That was quite simply…marvelous,” she said when her breathing had quieted. “I don’t understand why society frowns on kissing.”

  Because it was much easier for a man to deny himself the pleasure of a lady he’d never tasted. But to know the reality of his mouth fastened to hers and to still deny oneself—Robert didn’t know if he had the strength.

  “You should try to sleep now,” he said, his voice sounding like sand blown over rocks.

  “Did you find the kiss pleasing?” she asked.

  “Remarkably so.”

  “It’s a wonder people don’t spend all their time kissing.”

  “The danger in a kiss is that it can lead to other more intimate pleasures, and not all men have the strength to resist the temptation to explore those other pleasures.”

  “Marriage removes the need to resist.”

  “Yes.”

  “Will we arrive at Hawthorne House tomorrow?”

  “In all likelihood, yes. You would do well to sleep now.”

  He didn’t want to discuss what she thought would happen once they arrived at his family estate, because what she hinted she wanted, could not occur. Not if he was to return her to John.

  He relished the feel of her body relaxing against his, her hand curled against his chest. Such an innocent display of trust.

  He wanted to stretch out full-length and have her lying beside him, completely, with no space separating them. It didn’t matter that they were both fully clothed. It mattered only that her weight pressed against him, and it was the most incredible sensation. After so long, he was no longer alone.

  And although he knew it was but a physical impression creating an emotional deception, he still welcomed the joy that it brought, to once again be out in the world where he could travel in a coach at his leisure simply because he wished to, where he could hold a woman beside him and welcome the possibilities…

  He moved his hand up, gingerly skimming his fingers over her hair. More silk. Or perhaps satin. He was incredibly tempted to remove the pins holding everything in place so the strands could fill his hands. The moonlight glinted off her dark hair, her pale skin, giving her an ethereal quality.

  She sighed, and he wondered what visions filled her dreams. Did she dream of the man she cared for incredibly desperately? Or did she dream of the man who had kissed her?

  He had no plans to give in to sleep tonight, because the waking dream was more wonderful than anything his imagination would conjure.

  She tempted him to truly make her his wife. The law gave him the right, which was more than his brother had ever given him. She was his wife; her body belonged to him. But her heart…apparently it belonged to his brother.

  He had no intention of making her suffer for his brother’s sins, yet even as the thought took hold, he realized he was doing exactly that. By taking her as his wife, by not revealing the truth of the situation.

  As he held her, he couldn’t help but wish that she was truly his.

  Chapter 8

  S itting on the floor in the corner of a darkened room, Prisoner D3, 10 stared into the gray darkness. He’d awoken to find himself there, in solitary confinement, no windows, no light, the damned hood covering his face. He had yet to remove it.

  What if someone opened the door? What if someone saw this face that he hated? This face that looked exactly like his brother’s?

  He wondered at the time. What was his brother doing now?

  Surely he’d not carried through with the wedding ceremony. Of course he had. His brother had always wanted everything—everything to which he wasn’t entitled. He’d want the future duchess of Killingsworth as well.

  With a growl, Prisoner D3, 10 smashed his fist against the floor.

  He can’t have her! She belongs to me. Everything belongs to me!

  He got to his feet and began to pace. The voices of his ancestors were calling to him. He’d failed them.

  He had to escape. He had to reclaim that which belonged to him.

  Sunlight danced across her eyelids, only Torie didn’t want to awaken. She wanted to stay where she was. It was so comforting there. She felt safe, secure. And above all, cherished.

  As she worked her way through the fog of sleep to wakefulness, she became increasingly aware that she was protected, nestled within a cocoon—the plush softness of the coach seat on one side of her, the firm warmth of a man on the other.

  Her husband.

  Holding her breath so as not to disturb him, she carefully twisted her head until she could see his face. He was asleep, just as she’d been only moments ago.

  His head was tilted at an odd angle that she was certain would cause him to have a stiff neck for a good part of the day. His hair was no longer styled, but locks had fallen across his brow. One of his arms was beneath her, the other draped innocently over her side, not holding, but simply resting.

  She studied his face, features she’d thought she knew, but in sleep he seemed more like a stranger. His lips were slightly parted. Long, thick eyelashes rested on his cheeks. She’d never realized before how many lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes and mouth. And how deep they were. As though they’d been carved by hardship and suffering, rather than joy or merriment.

  R
eaching up, she touched his unshaven chin. She’d never before seen him so unkempt, and yet she found herself attracted to the disorder. It made him seem incredibly approachable, not quite so noble.

  She realized she would see him like this every morning for the remainder of her life.

  She turned her hand and feathered the back of it against his dark, rough stubble. Before she’d barely begun, his eyes fluttered open, and she found herself gazing into a blue as deep as the night. And yet there was sadness, like someone on Christmas Eve staring into a shop window at his heart’s desire, yet knowing he would never possess it.

  With a tender touch, he skimmed his thumb over her cheek. “You have the softest skin.”.

  His voice was raspy from sleep, but his eyes contained an intimacy born from having her within his arms, and it would take little now for those arms to close around her, for that mouth to play over hers…

  “Cucumber.”

  His brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

  She felt the heat rush to the very spot he was touching. “I apply a special cream that is made with cucumber.”

  “I’ve always fancied cucumber—but to eat, not to put on my face.” He gave his head a subtle shake. “Women are such odd creatures.”

  “I’m not certain I appreciate that assessment.” She ran her finger up to his temple. “You don’t look as though you slept well.”

  He shook his head slightly. “I watched you sleep for a good part of the night.”

  “You must have been bored to tears.”

  “I was fascinated. The moonlight on your face…I have never seen anything that brought me such pleasure.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “We need to untangle ourselves.”

  Only she didn’t want to untangle herself. “Let’s begin the morning with another proper kiss,”, she rasped.

  His gaze drifted down to her lips, his fingers tightened on her wrist. Sometime during the night, he’d loosened his cravat and unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt. Now she watched the movement of his throat as he swallowed.