Because of You

by Cathy Maxwell

  She looked into his dark eyes a moment before saying, “Is that why you haven’t left me yet? You want to make sure I’m not eaten by dragons?”

  His face was so close she could see the line of his whiskers even in the muted light given off by an oil lamp on the hall table. “I have an obligation to see you taken care of properly.”

  “It’s not necessary, you know. I can take care of myself.”

  “So you keep telling me.”

  “It’s true!”

  “Sam…Samantha, we’re tired. Let’s not argue now. I’m seeing you to London and I will make sure you’re set up, and I don’t care what you say. I’m not as rackety as everyone remembers.”

  She could have argued that point with him, but he was right. She was tired. She withdrew her hand from his. “Well, thank you for your advice. I try to heed good advice, no matter the source.”

  “Challenging to the end, aren’t you?”

  “Did you expect less?”

  “No.”

  She smiled at his quick reply and turned the handle of the door. “Good night.”

  Actually, Jenny, the maid, turned out not to be a dragon at all. She was a sweet, simple girl who knew little about what was expected of a lady’s maid. She and Samantha got along very well. It was nice to have someone else brush her hair until it shone and to ensure a hot brick had been placed between the sheets.

  In less than an hour, Samantha was dressed in her comfy flannel nightdress and tucked in for the night beneath toasty warm bedclothes, a nice fire burning in the hearth. It was nice to be treated as Someone Important.

  “Good night, my lady,” Jenny said at the door. “I’ll see you on the morrow.”

  “Thank you, Jenny,” Samantha said sleepily. The maid shut the door.

  Samantha closed her eyes and snuggled under the covers. Bed had never felt better. These sheets were much cleaner than those at the Bear and Bull and made of fine linen. Jenny had told her that the duke of Ayleborough always traveled with his own sheets.

  Yes, it was very nice to be Someone Important.

  She was just about ready to drop off to sleep when the door opened.

  Samantha rubbed her nose against the pillow. “Jenny? Have you forgotten something?”

  “It’s not the maid,” came Yale’s voice. “It’s your husband. I’m here to spend our wedding night.”

  Chapter 10

  Samantha bolted up into a seated position. “I thought that door locked.”

  “It does,” Yale answered. “See?” He locked the door with the key and held it up for her.

  “I do not want you here,” she said brutally. “I made that very clear at the inn this morning. I do not consider us man and wife.”

  “Yes, you made that very clear,” he replied without heat. “However, there is no other place for me to sleep. The place is overflowing with guests. People are even sleeping on the benches in the taproom.” He sat on the corner of the bed by her feet and leaned against the bedpost, yawning sleepily. “Besides, my brother, the one you were so cozy with all afternoon, would imagine me guilty of all sorts of notorious acts if I wasn’t in bed with my wife.”

  “There’s plenty of room for you to sleep in the stable. Your wife does not want you in bed with her,” she told him succinctly, then added, “And what do you mean, I was cozy with your brother all afternoon?”

  “One concern at a time, Samantha.” He rose from the bed and stretched before shrugging off his coat. As he hung it on the back of a chair that sat before a small desk, he said, “To answer your first question…the stables are full of all sorts of vermin. Would you really want me in the coach with you and Lord only knows what else? We’d be itching all the way to London.”

  Samantha itched just at the thought of it.

  “Second concern,” he said, pulling his shirt tail out from his breeches. “My wife doesn’t want me to sleep with her.” He paused a moment as if considering the matter before tugging the shirt over his head. At the sight of his bare chest, the room suddenly felt several degrees warmer to Samantha. She avoided his eyes.

  He again sat on the edge of the bed and began pulling off his boots. “Of course,” he continued conversationally, “I could remind her that yesterday, she said her vows of her own free will, and I do have conjugal rights.”

  Samantha forgot maidenly modesty and glared at him. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Challenging me, Sam?” he asked. He let the boot drop to the floor. “Don’t worry. I’ve never forced a woman yet and I’m not about to do it now.”

  “Oh, I am sure they all beg to tumble into your bed,” she said sarcastically.

  He nodded. “Usually.”

  Samantha folded her arms against her chest. “Well, now you’ve met one who won’t.”

  “So you keep telling me.” He started working off the other boot.

  His unruffled response angered her. “You know, you are a far cry from your brother.”

  That jab hit home. His movements froze and he shot an annoyed look toward her. She couldn’t hide a smile of satisfaction.

  “Yes,” he said grimly. “I am a far cry. And you’d best remember it.” He tossed his boot on the floor and rolled down his socks.

  She shook the bedclothes with a hard jerk, as if to shake him off the bed. “Why don’t you just go on your way? Leave me and be done with it. I’ve had enough of this farce you’ve been playing about accompanying me to London. And would you please stop undressing?” There was something very intimate about a man’s bare feet.

  Yale tossed his socks on top of his boots and rose. “I don’t sleep in my clothes. Not even for you.”

  Then, to her horror, he began unbuttoning his breeches. First one button, and then a second.

  Samantha stood up in the bed, almost beside herself with outrage. “Out!” She pointed to the door.

  “I’m not leaving. I’m staying here.” He unbuttoned a third button and she felt a wild sense of desperation. What would she do if he pressed her?

  She doubled her fists, shaking with indignation. “Is there no limit with you? I thought at yesterday’s and today’s wedding you had humiliated me enough, but you seem to have a number of other tricks up your sleeve!”

  “Sam, I have no tricks,” he said.

  “And my name is Samantha! Sam is a different person, a person who trusted you. Samantha is wiser. She’s not a fool!”

  Then, as suddenly as it came, her anger left her. She sat on the bed, facing the opposite wall. She had never lost her temper, ever…and yet she did over and over with him. Perhaps the man was driving her to madness? He had her so angry and confused she didn’t know herself anymore.

  She felt his weight move across the bed. Immediately she started to rise, grabbing for her pillow. “I will sleep in the stables. You can have the bed.”

  But before she could move, his hand caught her wrist and pulled her back. She landed on the edge of the bed, her back against his chest, his legs on either side of her.

  “Let me go!” She wrestled to pull her wrist free.

  His arms came around her, holding her prisoner. “Samantha, stop struggling. Come, love, stop it. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I thought you never forced yourself on women!” she ground out.

  “I’m not, Samantha. I’m just trying to calm you down.”

  “Well, this isn’t calming me!” she shot back, but she stopped twisting and turning.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I was only teasing you.”

  “And is that teasing?” she asked archly, wiggling a bit so that he knew she was aware of his erection pressing against her backside. He still wore his breeches, the top three buttons undone.

  “That cannot be helped,” he muttered. “Damn, Sam, I’m a man, after all. When your eyes flash fire and your chin gets that determined set and your hair is down around your shoulders, you remind me of an affronted princess. So beautiful and yet so distant.”

  Beautiful? Had he called her
beautiful?

  She shook her head, warning herself to be wary. He was a passionate man who liked women. He’d say anything to bed her. “Then I shall change my personality. I’ll become sweet, complacent, and boring so that you will find me ugly.”

  He chuckled. “Yes, but then, I like your sweetness best. Nor are you completely indifferent to me. Your nipples are hard.” He flicked the tip of one with his thumb.

  Samantha felt the movement all the way to the core of her being.

  He cradled her closer. “We were so good together,” he whispered into her ear. “So very good.”

  “I do not feel anything for you,” she attempted to deny.

  “Um-hm,” he said noncommittally.

  “I don’t!”

  “Did I say I didn’t believe you?”

  She practically growled her vexation, but she didn’t move. It didn’t feel bad being close to him like this. “You don’t have to say it. I hear your laughter in your voice.”

  “I didn’t realize I was so readable. I shall have to give up cards.”

  She caught a glimpse of them in the cheval glass in the corner of the room. They appeared to be a couple. Yet such were their differences there might as well be a chasm between them. “I will not be intimate with you,” she said carefully.

  “I understand.”

  “Do you accept that?”

  He sighed, the sound heavy. “I meant what I said about not forcing you, Sam. I’d make love to you all night if you let me, but it is your decision, not mine.”

  She lifted her chin. “I decide no.”

  His eyes met hers in the mirror and one corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. “So you keep telling me.”

  “Then what are you going to do?”

  “Pretend I’m a eunuch?”

  “Be serious.”

  He released her then and leaned back on his elbows. “I’m going to stretch out right here on the bed and get a good night’s sleep.”

  Samantha came to her feet, facing him. “I don’t believe that is a good idea.”

  He made an impatient sound. “Why?”

  “Because you’ll want more than sleep. I know you too well.”

  “Oh, Samantha, you don’t know me at all,” he said, with genuine irritation. He buttoned his breeches before scooting over to his side of the bed and punching the feather pillow in place. “I stayed alone in your cottage for how long? Two or three days, and I didn’t ravish you.”

  “But you were sick.”

  “Sam, I’m not a rutting stag. I can control my impulses. Now, come to bed.”

  He gave her his back. His body lay on top of the covers.

  Samantha stood staring at him, willing him to leave.

  He didn’t move. Several seconds later, she heard his deep, steady breathing.

  He’d gone to sleep!

  Here she was, her body tingling with awareness, and he’d gone to sleep. In less time than it took for her to snap her fingers, no less!

  She looked at herself in the cheval glass. She appeared completely ridiculous and she did feel a bit silly for all her posturing.

  But she was tired. Her weariness returned with an incredible force. The bed had never looked so inviting.

  She picked up the pillow that had fallen down to the floor. She placed a knee up on the bed. Yale didn’t stir.

  She eased her other leg onto the bed and lay down, pulling the bedclothes on top of her. Yale slept on.

  Slowly she began to relax. She could even laugh at herself a bit. She must have looked funny standing up in the bed the way she had. What was it about him that made her act in ways she had never thought herself capable of before?

  She mulled over that thought as at last she gave in to the pull of sleep.

  He rolled over in the bed and placed his hand on her breast and his lips over her mouth.

  For a second, she thought she was dreaming. His hand caressed her breast and she stifled a soft moan of pleasure against his lips. Her mouth opened and he kissed her the way she liked.

  It felt good. So very gooood—

  Samantha came to her senses with a start. This was no dream. Yale was kissing her! And fondling her breast! And worse, she was liking it!

  She sat up in bed. The firelight caught the flash of his straight, white teeth as he gave her a self-deprecating grin. “I guess I’m not a good eunuch.”

  Rage surged inside her. With a strength she didn’t know she possessed, she rolled him bodily out of the bed. He hit the floor with a thump.

  “Ouch,” he said, but there wasn’t a great deal of pain in his complaint. He hoisted himself up on one hand to see over the edge of the bed. “Come, Sam, admit it. You liked it just a little, didn’t you?”

  “You are a beast,” she said, reaching for a pillow and throwing it down on top of him.

  “Ouch,” he complained again.

  “Here is the bedspread,” she said, tossing it over the side of the bed. “I pray you suffocate in it.”

  On those words, she lay back down, and surprised herself by quickly falling asleep.

  Yale was gone the next morning when Jenny woke her. The bedspread again covered the bed. The pillow he’d used was beside hers.

  Heavy-lidded and still tired, Samantha suffered Jenny’s best ministrations in silence. The maid did have a talent for hairdressing. She twisted Samantha’s hair up into a knot. The extra height emphasized the line of Samantha’s neck and made her eyes look larger.

  She wondered what Yale would think before mentally chastising herself for giving more than a half penny’s thought to him. “It’s very nice, Jenny. I’m pleased.”

  “Thank you, my lady,” she said with a curtsy. Samantha almost curtsied back, but caught herself in time. She didn’t think she’d ever grow accustomed to being a “lady.”

  She went downstairs to the duke’s private room. The inn was very quiet at this early hour.

  She found the duke sitting down to breakfast. He and Fenley were pleased to see her. Fenley pulled out a chair.

  “I trust you slept well, Samantha,” Ayleborough said.

  She glanced at him, uncertain if he knew what had happened between her and his brother last night. “I did, Your Grace, thank you,” she replied.

  “I’ve told you, please call me Wayland. We are family now. Speaking of which, where is that errant brother of mine? Is he up and about, or still hugging his pillow? He was always so lazy. However, I want to be off within the hour.”

  Samantha thought many things of Yale, but she would never have called him lazy.

  Fortunately, Fenley saved her from having to answer. “Lord Yale was up early this morning,” he said. “He expected to be back before you were ready to go, Your Grace.” He placed a plate of eggs and sausages before Samantha.

  “He’s not here?” Wayland said with annoyance. “Where the devil did he go at this hour? It’s barely daylight.”

  Fenley answered, “He went to buy a horse.”

  “A horse?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. He found the coach too confining and wished to ride today. He promised to be back before we left.”

  “Why didn’t he hire one of the nags from the inn?”

  “I don’t know,” Fenley replied judiciously, and then surprised Samantha by giving her a conspirator’s wink.

  She wondered what Fenley would think if he knew that she had even less knowledge of Yale than the duke did.

  “What the deuce kind of horse can he buy at dawn in Darlington?” Wayland wondered.

  Both of them found out shortly. Just as they were ready to board the coach, Yale rode up on a spirited black stallion. He was hatless and the ends of his overcoat flapped behind him.

  He grinned at them, his eyes sparkling with enjoyment. “He’s a great one, isn’t he?”

  Even Samantha could tell this was a magnificent horse. Wayland stepped forward and ran his hand along the chest and up the neck.

  “He is,” he said with appreciation. “Where did you get him?”<
br />
  “Bought him from the local squire up the road. I heard some of the men talking about him in the taproom last night.”

  “I daresay he cost you a pretty penny,” Wayland hinted.

  Yale shrugged. “He’s worth the price. After all, they say it pays to wager on a dark horse.”

  His brother frowned. “Where is your hat?”

  “I lost it when I put him through his paces on the road back there.”

  “A gentleman always wears a hat,” Wayland said stubbornly.

  Yale dismissed his words with a wave of his hand. “I’ll buy one at the next town.” Then, with a sly smile in Samantha’s direction he said, “I’m naming him Beast. I hope you approve.”

  She caught the reference to the night before. “It’s the perfect name for him,” she replied curtly, and climbed into the coach. Wasn’t it just like him to poke fun at everything?

  Before the footman could close the door, Yale guided the horse up next to the coach. “I also brought you this, my lady.” From inside his overcoat, he pulled out a single red rose.

  Samantha was surprised to see the bloom in the dead of winter. “Where did you find it?” she asked, taking it from him. Already the edges were curling from the cold, and she wanted to protect it.

  “The squire had a hothouse. Growing roses is one of his hobbies. It cost me almost as much as the horse.” His gloved fingers closed over hers. “I hope you like it.”

  Their gazes met—and she read in his an earnest plea for forgiveness.

  He leaned closer and spoke so that only the two of them could hear. “I shouldn’t have teased you last night, Sam.”

  She nodded, not trusting her voice to speak. She didn’t like him when he behaved in such a conciliatory manner. His behavior made it hard to keep the walls up between them.

  She pulled back and Yale released her hand. The footman shut the door.

  Wayland rapped on the wall and they were off.

  Samantha slowly twirled the rose stem. She wished she could remove her gloves so that she could feel the velvety petals, but she would not do so in front of Wayland and Fenley. There was a danger of such a gesture being misinterpreted.