Return of the Viscount

by Gayle Callen

  Chapter 18

  That night, Cecilia relaxed in her bathing tub, trying to think of nothing at all. But that seldom worked for her, and it didn’t now. She had to deliberately call to mind farming chores so she wouldn’t think about Michael in the next room.

  Which fields would lie fallow during the next spring planting?

  Michael, naked, leaning over her in bed, inside her, surrounding her.

  She groaned aloud, slapped her hands on the surface of the water, and sank beneath. When she came up, she heard the door to the dressing room slam open.

  Michael demanded, “What was that sound?”

  And then he came up short as he stared at her.

  Nell giggled from somewhere behind her. “Shall I leave you for the evenin’, milord?”

  “It’s not his decision,” Cecilia said sternly.

  “Please do, Nell, and thank you,” Michael answered as if she hadn’t spoken.

  Frowning, Cecilia sank even lower in the water as Nell’s laughter could be heard in the corridor as she closed the door.

  And then there was silence. She couldn’t look at Michael, only at the soap on the surface of the water. The room was dark, lit only with candles. She prayed he couldn’t see beneath the surface.

  But he’d already seen everything—kissed her breasts, entered her body, for heaven’s sake! Now she was being shy?

  Michael limped slowly toward her, that tender smile softening his face, the one that melted her insides, tempted her to forget all her promises about how she wanted to live her life.

  And in that moment, she realized how easy it would be to agree to anything he wanted, to make him happy. And she might be happy, too—at first. And then the regrets would come.

  “I like your mother,” she said a bit breathlessly.

  He blinked at her, and she realized the introduction of his family as a topic was hardly conducive to romance. She decided to jump right in.

  “Can you tell me why your parents’ marriage was so unhappy?”

  With a sigh, he pulled up a chair next to her and sank into it. She felt like she’d temporarily won, but, of course, she’d have to leave the tub sometime, and he’d be waiting.

  Michael sighed. “I’ve already told you much of the truth—or you’ve guessed. I vowed never to marry for money, and it was because of my father’s and grandfather’s decisions where their wives were concerned. They foolishly pursued wealth rather than happiness, and when the money was gone, there was no foundation on which to base a marriage. Everyone was miserable, and when I realized that my father was trying to lead me the same way, I decided that I would seek my fortune in the Far East, beginning with the army, and using the meager earnings left after supporting the estate to invest in shipping and exports.”

  “And you’re so proud of that, I imagine it shocked you that your brother became a lawyer.”

  “It had nothing to do with pride,” he insisted, leaning toward her fervently. “I was worried that if he felt the need to supplement the estate’s income, then I’d let them down, that I’d taken too long—ten years now—trying to improve our situation. He deserved better. I remember having to make our own bullets as boys, share the same horse. He never complained.”

  Cecilia suspected that Michael never did either.

  “But he seems happy with his choices,” he continued, “and who am I, an army ranker, to tell him what he can or can’t do? But it will limit his ability to marry well.”

  “So did enlisting in the army, but it doesn’t seem to have hurt you,” she said dryly. She tried to decide what part of her body would best be covered by the facecloth.

  When he gave a crooked smile, she hastily said, “But back to your mother. Did she know she’d been used for her dowry?”

  “Surely you have friends who worried about such things, and perhaps even you. I believe a woman would know if there was no love involved, don’t you?”

  She nodded, remembering more than one friend who had accepted a marriage arranged by parents. “I never thought that would happen to me, of course,” she said wryly. “I knew my father would never force me into such an arrangement—and yet just by praising you, it was as if he deliberately led me right to you.” She shook her head even as she smiled.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked softly, pulling his chair a bit closer.

  She sank deeper into the tub, and the water sloshed near the rim. “You’re certain you don’t think of that young lady your father chose for you?”

  “I don’t even remember her name.” His expression sly, he murmured, “You have gooseflesh. It must be getting cold in there.”

  “Oh, no, I am quite content and relaxed,” she said, too quickly. “So your mother accepted the marriage, even though she knew your father didn’t love her?”

  Michael grinned, but his amusement faded. “She was one of the women with no choice. Once, when he was drunk, my father told me even he didn’t want to marry her, but for the money.”

  She stared at him in bewilderment. “But she seems like a wonderful woman, and you obviously were raised well by her.”

  “She is wonderful, but from what my father accidentally told me, I think she was considered fast.”

  Cecilia caught her breath.

  “I understand that it’s shocking. You’d never know it to meet her. Her father wanted to be rid of her, thought she encouraged young men, and there were whispers that she’d done even more than that.”

  “Oh, Michael, how terrible for you to hear such things. I don’t like your father very much for repeating them.”

  “He’d never been a man who could be satisfied with a decent life. He always wanted more—more excitement, more money, more respect. You don’t achieve respect behaving as he did. As for my mother . . . I don’t know how immature she was as a young woman. But she became a wonderful mother, and tolerant of my father, at least in front of us.”

  He seemed as if he might say more but simply thinned his lips and stared unseeing across the room. Cecilia could only be amazed at how serene and uncomplaining his mother was compared to her own, when the lady had obviously come down in the world.

  “I know I wanted all my inheritance for my control of the earldom,” she began slowly, “and I understand that you don’t want my dowry because of the things your family has been through. But, Michael, what if you used some of the dowry to purchase an officer’s commission?” When he frowned, she went on quickly. “You would earn more money for your family, and I’m sure the connections would help the various enterprises you’ve begun investing in.”

  “Thank you, but no. I am content with the life I’ve made for myself.”

  She nodded, hoping that making the offer would help her feel better about what she owed him and his family. And also, she almost hoped the whole conversation would put him in a bad mood.

  But apparently not, for suddenly he braced his weight on the rim of the tub behind her, then dipped the fingers of his other hand in the soap bubbles floating before her.

  She inhaled swiftly. “Michael, surely you can have a bathing tub sent to your bedchamber.”

  “But there’s one right here.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at his hand as if mesmerized. He made slow circles in the bubbles, coming ever closer to her breasts.

  “I could scrub your back,” he whispered.

  She tipped her head back and stared up at him, feeling like she couldn’t breathe deeply enough the way his eyes gleamed down upon her. Her body seemed to be coming awake, as if the memories of his lovemaking had lain dormant all day and were now fanned hotly to life by the sight of his eagerness to have her.

  He suddenly stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. “What the hell; I could just get in with you.”

  Shocked and panicky, she surged to her feet without thinking, “No, no, I’m done, it’s all yours.”

  As water sluiced down her body, he laughed and wrapped her in a towel, swinging her into her arms and toward the bed.

/>   “I see how eager you are,” he whispered even as he nuzzled her neck and kissed her there. “I’ll have my bath later, and maybe I can persuade you to join me.”

  He set her down on the edge of the bed and began to pat her dry. She felt silly and embarrassed and hot with the desire she felt for him, the desire she could no longer deny.

  And then he kissed her, tipping her backward and coming down over her body, exploring her mouth deeply, luring her tongue into his own. With a moan, she gave up trying to pretend she could keep him away from her. He was a man, with a man’s needs, and she was his wife. She wrapped her arms about him and kissed him back with a fierce urgency. She moaned as he began to lick the water from her skin, trailing down her body. She cried out when his tongue teased her nipples, and she could have gloried in that forever, but he kept moving down her body, exploring her belly, spreading her thighs.

  She stiffened as he knelt at the edge of the bed, staring right at her—there. She came up on her elbows. “Michael, what are you—”

  “Relax,” he interrupted. “I was in such a rush to have you last night, I didn’t explore.”

  “Oh, that’s all right. It’s not necessary.” She heard herself babbling, even as she trembled with expectation and curiosity and desperation. “In fact, it’s been a long day. You must be tired.”

  He chuckled against her belly, then he said nothing as he moved lower and pressed an intimate kiss between her thighs.

  Her hips jolted beneath him, and she covered her mouth to stop her cries. She should stop him, but she was overwhelmed and stunned, shocked by the fierce pleasure of his tongue licking her, even inside her. She existed in a haze of rising pleasure, shuddering, desperate for the joy she knew awaited her. And it came so suddenly, pouring over her, leaving her gasping and languid beneath him.

  He straightened up and leaned over her, grinning.

  “You look proud of yourself,” she whispered.

  “Oh, I am. There’s nothing to compare to pleasing one’s wife.”

  She couldn’t help smiling at his silliness, even as a secret place in her heart thrummed with a hint of sadness.

  He removed the rest of his clothing as she scooted back into the center of the bed. Crawling on all fours above her, he kissed her over and over until she almost begged him to come inside her. He eased between her thighs and gently claimed her. She gasped in awe at how wonderful it felt to have him deep inside her, as if he could be a part of her forever.

  “No pain?” he whispered against her mouth.

  She shook her head. “None.”

  “Good,” he breathed in obvious relief.

  And then he began to move, sometimes sweeping her away in his urgency and power, other times moving so slowly that she lifted her hips off the bed to capture him. Everything made her ache in new and wondrous ways, and she reveled in it all, even as she knew it could only be temporary.

  When Michael awoke before dawn, he tensed, waiting for his wife to flee their bed as she had the day before. But she was still asleep, and he was able to prop himself up on his elbow and study her. Her complexion was not as pale as other English beauties because she preferred to walk the land rather than remain indoors. But he liked that. He lifted a strand of golden hair and inhaled, smelling the elusive, floral scent that he would forever associate with her.

  She blinked drowsily and opened her eyes, and he relaxed when she didn’t seem surprised to see him. In that moment, as he yearned for her to smile at him, he knew he was falling in love with her, and it had nothing to do with a debt to his past. It was all about the woman she was and how he could no longer imagine his life without her. But what should be a joyous feeling was instead brimming with uncertainty, for although she tolerated him, even desired him, all of it was still very reluctant. Even if she had tender feelings for him, she would never admit it, and it would scare her away if he admitted his own.

  She wasn’t ready to share thoughts and hopes. He found himself wanting to talk about his brother’s law practice, and his concern that Allen would have less time for managing the Blackthorne estate. Cecilia would be the perfect one to take over the work—but she wasn’t ready to hear that. She was too focused on her brother.

  So he smiled and saved the discussion for a later time. “Good morning, my sweet.”

  He waited for her to object to the endearment, but instead, she gave him a faint frown.

  “You dreamed in the night,” she murmured, looking troubled.

  He silently cursed the dreams of his fallen comrades, over which he had no control. “I am sorry I disturbed you.”

  “No, please, you didn’t call out or toss around—much. I’m . . . simply not used to someone else being in my bed.”

  She blushed and briefly looked away, pulling the counterpane closer to her chin like one of the shields on the drawing-room wall that used to guard her ancestors.

  “What were you dreaming about?” she asked.

  He shrugged and sat up as if to stretch out his back. He couldn’t look at her as he misled her. “I don’t really remember. Battles, I think. Nothing to speak of.”

  “It must be terrible to risk your life every day.”

  She laid her palm low on his back, comforting him. For the first time, he realized he didn’t want to tell her about his part in her father’s death. But . . . if he was so certain he’d made an honest mistake, and didn’t feel guilty, why didn’t he wish to tell her? He’d never considered that before.

  “Skill and training help a man reduce his risk,” Michael said almost absently.

  “And you seem a very dedicated sort of man.”

  Now he heard amusement in her voice, and turned back to study her. She was staring at his torso, at the muscles she probably wasn’t used to seeing if her smile was any indication. But then that faded, and he knew she was seeing the scars.

  He gestured to them impatiently. “These were wounds of the flesh, none deep. More annoyances than anything else.”

  “You could have died of infection,” she chastised him.

  “Perhaps, but I didn’t.”

  He was the one who left the bed first.

  Cecilia sat up and watched her husband, feeling even more intrigued now that she’d made love to him twice. She felt she knew him so much more . . . personally, intimately.

  And she knew he was holding something back, something about the dreams. It might be something as simple as wanting to keep the dangerous details from her innocent ears, she thought with annoyance. But it wasn’t just that. What didn’t he want her to know about the dreams?

  As he drew on his trousers, she changed the subject. “Though you never rebuked me, I did invite your family to my home, where someone is trying to—harm me. I never thought I might be putting them in danger. They didn’t seem . . . real to me, when I was trying to discover the truth about you.”

  He came back to the bed and looped his arm around the bedpost. “I know. And I do not fear for them here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I recently had a discussion with your brother about security. Since your fall into the hole, we’ve increased the patrols of the watchmen. Tom and Will have been taking turns in the family wing at night in the corridors.”

  She slowly smiled. “You thought to discuss it with my brother? Thank you.”

  He shrugged, and she knew he still didn’t trust him, but Oliver was the earl.

  When Nell knocked on the door, Michael departed after reminding Cecilia that they would go down to breakfast together. Of course, he was dressed before her and waiting patiently in the corridor to escort her downstairs.

  “I seem to remember your waiting for me here before,” she said.

  “You were trying to elude your husband,” he replied, shaking his head.

  “If it weren’t for this mysterious villain, I would be feeling a bit crowded.”

  His expression briefly clouded, and she knew she had pricked him. But what else was she supposed to do? They’d never have an id
yllic marriage. Regardless of what happened between them in bed, by the light of day they would have to separate. It was best to remember that.

  Michael’s family joined them at breakfast, although Oliver, as usual, did not. His “pressing matter” of the previous evening had probably brought him home in the wee hours before dawn.

  Lady Blackthorne had more questions about Cecilia herself, as if she wanted to learn everything she could about her new daughter-in-law.

  “It must have been very exciting to spend much of your childhood in another country,” Lady Blackthorne said with awe.

  Cecilia shrugged. “Perhaps. When I was much younger, I thought it an adventure, of course.”

  She saw Michael glance at her sharply, as if with all her denials, he never imagined she might once have appreciated it.

  “My mother wanted to be with my father at all times, so we did not await him in Bombay but followed his regiment wherever it went.”

  Mr. Blackthorne actually whistled as he stared at her and buttered his toast at the same time.

  “We traveled jungles and mountains, waited anxiously behind lines at every engagement.” She didn’t realize her voice was growing softer with each word as her mind flew back to those dreaded hours, when they wondered if her father lived. She gave a start and forced a smile for her mother-in-law. “My father seemed to have luck on his side.”

  “Not luck,” Michael said. “Talent and intuition. He had a gift for practically reading the mind of the enemy. He seemed to know their intentions before they did and concocted the perfect response, never needlessly cruel, never too timid. He had the respect of his men, his superiors, and the enemy.”

  Cecilia gazed at him with gratitude, touched.

  “The two of you did not meet in those days?” Lady Blackthorne asked.

  Michael shook his head. “Cecilia and her mother escorted young Lord Appertan home to attend Eton. After that, she was there sporadically, and we never met. I did meet your mother once, though,” he told Cecilia.