by Anne O'Brien
‘I …’ She shook her head in denial, unable to find words. ‘I don’t …’
‘I know you don’t.’ His smile was a touch wry. ‘But I will wait. At least you have told me that you do not hate me any more.’
‘No.’ Encouraged by his light touch, she smiled up at him.
‘Then let me make love to you. Let me show you the pleasure that a man can bring to a woman.’
Her arms tightened around his neck and she lifted her mouth to his, wordlessly granting him all the permission he needed.
It took little time for him to remove his own clothing and hers, even without haste, and then she lay in his arms, her head resting against his shoulder. He held her close to stroke her hair and press his lips to her temple where a nerve throbbed below the delicate skin. When he felt her relax against him, the tension dissolve from her body, he began his thorough campaign to show her, as he had promised, how much pleasure he could give her.
He was careful with her. Gentle but firm, setting the pace slowly to arouse and seduce until she had no will of her own under the skilful assault of his hands, and would answer every one of his demands. His clever fingers smoothed and caressed, exploring every inch of her body, exploiting every delightful response to his touch. When she sighed, his mouth took hers into submission until her lips were soft and swollen, willing to open to the pressure of his tongue. Her skin was like finest silk as it warmed to his touch. He allowed his palm to cup a breast, to enclose the gentle swell of it. It fit so perfectly into his hand, how could any man resist. His thumb teased her nipple until it hardened with keen desire. When he replaced his thumb with his mouth she caught her breath at the explosion of heat, spreading through every limb, but then wound her hands into his hair to hold him there. He closed his teeth over her in the gentlest of bites, feeling her shiver and melt against his hard flesh, pulling him even closer as her arms slid around him, chaining his body as she had unwittingly chained his heart. He trailed his fingers lingeringly over her stomach, her muscles trembling, to touch her thighs, the intoxicating flare of her hips. She instantly opened for him, against his every expectation. He groaned, turning his face into her hair, in anticipation of his ultimate possession. His fingers slid along the impossibly soft flesh of her inner thighs and into the hot wetness, as delicate as any flower petal. When he took her, opening her with urgent fingers, he covered her mouth with his to swallow her cry of shock and amazement that her body should feel such heat, such delight, such need.
He continued to touch, to caress, to slide deeper into her, until her body began to move beneath his, until she lifted her hips against his hand in urgent demand. Her fingers gripped his shoulders, her nails scoring him, as she fought against a sensation for which she had no experience.
‘Don’t fight it, Katherine. Let go,’ he whispered, his mouth against her throat where the pulse beat with such intensity.
‘I dare not.’
‘Yes, you dare. You have no choice.’ He supported himself so that he could witness every emotion in her eyes as he drove her on. ‘I will give you no choice.’ His arrogance took her breath away, but she had no doubt of his determination to command her senses.
Power swept through him, surging through his blood, as he held her captive and continued his assault, with confidence and certainty, even when she would have twisted away from him, afraid of the feelings that were quickly overwhelming her. He drove her on now, without mercy, until her whole body tensed and shuddered against his hand and she muffled her cries against his chest. As her hands slipped limply from his shoulders, her breathing settled, he covered her face with kisses, moved beyond words at the depth of her trust in him.
‘Marcus?’
‘Mmm?’ His teeth grazed a tingling path along her throat to her collarbone, returning to nibble at the soft skin beneath her ear.
‘That was incredible. Was it … wrong?’
‘Wrong?’ He lifted his head in surprise, his brows raised, but his lips curved in an understanding smile.
‘Well, so many things that I have found to be enjoyable—are sinful. Or so my uncle says.’
‘And did you perhaps discuss this particular matter with your uncle?’
‘Of course not!’ She laughed at his deliberate foolishness, a sound of such joy that his heart clenched in his chest and his hold on his self-control slipped a little. He took her face in his hands and captured her gaze.
‘No. It is not wrong. How could something so glorious between us be anything but right?’ He touched his mouth to hers in the softest of caresses as her lips curved into a smile. Then he rolled to kneel between her spread thighs, feasting his eyes on her relaxed flushed body, pinning her hands to the bed at her sides with his own. He was now driven beyond reason by the urge to bury himself within her.
‘Touch me, Kate.’
He took her hand and closed her fingers around his erection, guiding her, showing her how to use her caressing touch to maximum effect, to his own pleasure. He closed his eyes and stifled the groan, a low growl in his throat when her cool fingers stroked and enclosed. It was too much.
He could command his responses no longer. He lifted her hips and thrust into her, holding her still as she gasped at his invasion, at the intensity of the sensations that gripped her. But this time there was no difficulty, no resistance. She was more than ready to accept, to enclose. He withdrew a little and drove deeper still, slowly so that she might savour every moment, lifting her so that her legs wrapped naturally around him, to allow him greater access.
‘Look at me, Kate. I will never hurt or reject you as Isolde was hurt and rejected. You are mine and I will never let you go.’
She kept her eyes open on his, betraying every emotion as his thrusts became stronger, harder, his breathing more ragged. Each thrust claimed her as his, a declaration of love and commitment. She clung, moved with him, answered him, giving herself to his every demand until, with a final powerful thrust, he could hold back no longer. At that moment he thought that he had never known such intense happiness.
And then he could not think at all.
It seemed to Kate that her emotions were shattered into a thousand crystal shards, glittering in the candlelight. As he finally allowed his desire to take complete mastery over his body, she locked the glorious sensations that he had given her inside her heart, astonished at her capacity to give and receive such sensual satisfaction. When he lay spent beside her, she stretched like the little cat he sometimes called her, curling into his side.
‘Marcus,’ she whispered his name as she sank into sleep.
Marlbrooke remained awake, watching the patterns created by candles and fire on the softly glowing panelling. Shattered by the capacity for love that she aroused in him, he could not believe that she did not return his feelings. And yet she had never said so. She had never used the word love. Was he condemning himself to a life of frustration and anguish by loving her so unconditionally, by putting into her hands a weapon that could be lethal if used with careless intent? Knowing that she could destroy him if she wilfully rejected his gift? No. He could not believe it when she returned his lovemaking so ardently. He must not believe it. He drew her sleeping body close, swamped by a need to love and protect as she stirred in his arms.
‘Dearest Kate.’ He pillowed her head on his shoulder. ‘History will not repeat itself this time. Oxenden will wed Harley.’
He let himself fall into sleep beside her.
Chapter Fifteen
‘My lady.’ Verzons bowed. ‘There is a gentleman here to see your ladyship, and have conversation with Mistress Harley. Mr Richard Hotham asks if he might present his compliments to you.’
Lady Elizabeth glanced across at Kate, noting her surprise and a sudden flash of anxiety in her candid gaze, but she pushed aside the tapestry frame, pleased at the prospect of a new face and new conversation, and nodded to Verzons.
‘Certainly, Master Verzons. And perhaps you will bring wine.’ She smiled at Kate, who had recovered her
composure. ‘So. I have learned something of Richard Hotham from you. Shall I like him?’
‘Why, yes. I was brought up with him as a small child. His family live very close at Staunton Court and were always made welcome by Sir Henry at Downham Hall, so I saw much of Richard and my Aunt Lucy. He was always a very splendid figure as my older cousin. I was allowed to ride with him.’ Kate smiled slightly at the happy memories but Elizabeth saw the faint line between her brows and was reminded of her previous evasion of certain pertinent matters.
There was no further opportunity for discussion as Verzons bowed Richard into the Long Gallery where the ladies had chosen to spend the afternoon hours.
‘Your ladyship. Kate.’ He bowed over their hands with charming grace. ‘It is very good of you to receive me.’
‘We are always pleased to have company with new topics of gossip and affairs from the outside world. You are very welcome, Mr Hotham.’
‘Mistress Gilliver asked me to enquire of Kate’s welfare and escort her back to Widemarsh if she intends to return today.’
‘Of course.’ Elizabeth gave him a warm smile and indicated a chair.
Richard took the seat and accepted a glass of wine from Verzons. Kate was left free to watch him as easy conversation flowed between her cousin and Lady Elizabeth. Yes, he was as pleasing to look at as ever. And she had as much affection for him as she had when she had lived at Downham Hall. She had once told him she cared deeply for him—would be more than willing to wed him. She remembered the rain-washed day in the gardens. But love? What had she known of love in those days before she had come to the Priory, before she had met Marlbrooke? Her thoughts strayed unhesitatingly to the dark glamour of the absent Viscount. To the beauty of his face, the touch of his elegant hands on hers. She repressed her wayward thoughts, but could not prevent the warmth that lodged in her belly and spread its fingers through her veins to her very fingertips at the memory of their nights together. And it struck her again, a sharp lance of pain and wonder, as she scanned her cousin’s fair hair and pleasingly regular features. She knew without doubt where her heart was given. Her feelings, a childish affection and hero worship for her cousin, now matured into respect and friendship, paled into insignificance beside the turbulent passion that threatened to overwhelm her as she sat with outward composure in the Long Gallery, deaf and blind to what was going on around her. It was Marlbrooke. She had claimed to hate him. But it was now many weeks since he had stirred an entirely different emotion in her. She pressed a hand to her lips as she relived the searing caress of his mouth on hers. How could she possibly have mistaken her youthful admiration for Richard as love?
‘Dear Kate? What do you think?’
She blinked as she came back to the present, letting her hand fall into her lap, and flushed when she found Richard’s eyes on her, a questioning gleam in them.
‘Forgive me. I must have been daydreaming. How rude of me, to be sure.’
‘We were talking about family,’ Elizabeth explained gently. ‘Mr Hotham, of course, remembers the Priory from earlier days when he came here as a small boy. Is that not so?’
‘Why, yes.’ His voice continued, casually conversational, a smile in his eyes as they rested on Kate. ‘I would be six or seven at the time of the siege.’ He spoke blandly about the painful past, without inflection. ‘My mother, Sir Thomas’s sister, you understand, frequently visited, particularly when my father was engaged in the war. I was often here. But that was before Kate was born, of course.’
‘So your family will be in the portraits here?’
‘My mother should certainly be here somewhere, as a child, if not later in life.’
‘Kate, my dear, why don’t you show Richard the portraits where you know the subjects. I am sure he will be interested—after all, it is his family as much as your own.’
Kate smiled, rose to her feet and obligingly led Richard down the Gallery, leaving Elizabeth to follow them with her eyes, a speculative look hidden by her lashes.
They went to stand before a large family portrait of Harleys, with Sir Thomas as a small boy sitting next to his sister Lucy, Richard’s mother. But Kate could sense her cousin’s lack of attention as she explained who was who.
Finally he stopped her with a light touch on her arm. ‘Kate. Do you intend to return to Widemarsh today?’
‘I am not certain.’ For the first time in their long relationship she felt nervous in his company.
‘I think we need to talk.’ His lips were compressed and the look in his eyes were serious. But she did not want a serious discussion with him at this moment when her own feelings were so new, so overwhelming. And how could she possibly explain her apparent change of heart to him? What words could she possibly use to condone her betrayal of his love for her? She shrank from the prospect.
‘Look at me, Kate. I need to know—’
Kate cast around in her mind for some distraction. Fortune smiled on her and she was able to interrupt in what she hoped was a matter of normality as she spied the edges of a book partially concealed by a cushion.
‘Why, look. There is John Donne, under the cushions all the time.’ She escaped from Richard’s grasp to go to the window seat and rescue the lost volume. ‘Lady Elizabeth has missed this. Let us return—’
And then Verzons was bowing before her.
‘Mistress Harley.’ His eyes glanced at Richard, but with no emotion or interest other than the ordinary. ‘Forgive me for the interruption, but I believe you might wish to know. I have arranged for the transport of the box to Widemarsh Manor as instructed. It should be in the hands of Mistress Gilliver by late this afternoon.’
‘Thank you, Master Verzons. You are very kind.’ Her eyes followed him with a thoughtful expression as he retired once more from the Gallery. Then she started to walk back to Elizabeth.
‘A box?’
‘Yes.’ Richard’s enquiry recalled her attention. ‘Last night we found a box hidden in a wall cavity behind the linenfold.’ It surprised her that she did not wish to explain further.
‘And in it? I presume it was of interest if you have sent it to Widemarsh.’
‘Harley documents. Letters and such. Most of them very old and indecipherable.’ Kate shrugged, a light gesture, indicating a matter of no account. She had no intention of being any more specific. ‘I have sent them to Gilliver—I thought she might wish to read them as they touched on a family matter that we had discussed.’
‘I could have taken them for you.’
‘Thank you, Richard, but no need. Verzons has seen to it, as you heard.’
‘Well, Mr Hotham. Did you find your mother in the portraits?’ As they had returned to Elizabeth’s side, Richard dropped the subject of the documents.
‘Yes. As a little girl with a finch on her wrist and a wicked twinkle in her eye. She had great charm, although her brother appeared to view her with some suspicion—or so the artist presumed.’ He laughed, as relaxed and courteous as ever.
‘Perhaps you would stay and dine with us, Mr Hotham? I am sure Kate would enjoy your company and she can take you round the Priory and gardens, if you should like it. To renew your acquaintance. We have made plans for some changes on the east side and would value your opinion.’
‘You are kind.’ Richard smiled and bowed over Elizabeth’s hand with regret. ‘But I must not encroach on your time longer. I have other errands in the area and the days are still short. If I may, I will return another day.’
After that the leave-taking was rapid. In no time at all Richard’s soberly clad figure was striding from the Gallery.
‘Now, what errands do you suppose he has here?’ Kate’s brow wrinkled as she kept her eyes on the retreating figure in some surprise.
‘Kate?’
‘Why, nothing, Lady Elizabeth.’ Kate smiled and handed over the errant book. ‘It is just that … it seemed to me that Richard had intended to stay longer. But perhaps I was mistaken.’
Kate came across Marlbrooke in the Hall wher
e he had just come from the stables. On seeing her he immediately swept her a flamboyant bow, feathered hat sweeping the floor, taking her hand and proceeding to cover it with extravagant kisses. Kate chuckled at his levity and tightened her fingers around his in warm response—and yet there was a preoccupation about him that was almost tangible.
‘What is it, my lord? Have you received bad news?’
He registered her perception and frowned slightly. ‘I am not certain, but I have an uneasy feeling … I have just spoken with one of the stable lads. He rode in, the horse in a lather, as I was there. He said he had been sent on an errand last night—with a letter—with instructions to make haste. He had just returned.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘To Mr Simon Hotham at Staunton Court.’
‘Simon?’ The faintest finger of disquiet feathered down Kate’s spine. Her eyes widened and flew to Marlbrooke’s face. ‘Who sent it?’
‘The lad did not know. Neither did Jenks—he thought it was at my instigation. The letter was left there in the stables with a covering note and Jenks simply handed it over as instructed. But I have my suspicions … What is it, Kate?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Do you know something of this?’
‘I don’t know … do you think it could have been Master Verzons?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘Because—’ Kate stated her fears as calmly as she could ‘—he is the only one who knows about the box of letters apart from the two of us. Besides that … I know that he still retains a deep-seated loyalty to the Harley family. He might have seen it as his duty to inform my Uncle Simon if he suspected the existence of a will had come to light.’
Marlbrooke enfolded her hand for comfort within his own, but his tone was clipped and flat. ‘I believe our thoughts run together on this.’
‘Will you ask Master Verzons?’
‘I must.’ He cast his hat and gloves on to the side table. ‘There is no place here in my employ for a steward with such obvious divided loyalties. I have accepted much after the complications of the war and interregnum, but not such a deliberate show of interest that is against my own—and possibly against yours.’
