by Jane Goodger
Graham strode to his room, feeling as if he were about to tear apart. She’d looked so damned sad, he’d wanted to pull her into his arms to comfort her. But, God, what if it had all been a game to her?
For a man who had never had a problem making love to a woman, Graham was decidedly at loose ends. Perhaps “filled with dread” was a more fitting description. Katherine was a virgin—and would be his first. He took a deep breath. That was it, of course. This feeling had nothing to do with the cold block of despair that sat where his heart had once been.
Graham looked in the mirror and laughed aloud at that thought. Had he ever gazed upon a bigger fool?
Since his father’s death, Graham had tried with all his being to control his life. After all, it had been his actions, his words, that had led to his father’s suicide. He’d tried ever since then to prove to his father that he was worthy of the title, but again and again, he failed. Logically, he understood his father was a tortured man and suicide was likely inevitable, that the discovery of tin and copper could not have been foreseen, the fortune lost with the experienced American investor was beyond his control. The fact remained, it had all happened. And now, one million pounds were gone simply because he’d fallen in love with the wrong woman—a woman who likely had manipulated him into complete financial ruin. Worse was that he couldn’t wait to bed her—virgin or not.
Several hours after the Wrights had departed, Graham donned his robe over his naked body and walked to his room’s adjoining door, pausing only when he noticed just how badly his hand was shaking. Clenching his fist, he knocked on the door with perhaps a bit more violence than he intended.
Katherine jumped nearly a mile when the knock sounded on the door. She sat in bed wearing one of her old nightgowns, a virginal affair with a high neck and ruffles. There hadn’t been time to get a more appropriate wedding nightgown. The lamp by her bed had been turned up, but she quickly put the flame down before calling out for her husband to enter.
“Come in.” She swallowed when the door opened, revealing the silhouette of Graham, wearing a deep blue velvet robe and, she suspected, little else. Her eyes drifted down to his naked legs lit only by the lamp and the low fire in the hearth, then up to his face, her cheeks heating with a sudden blush.
He walked over to her bed and sat down at the edge, the mattress sinking beneath his weight.
“Your mother told you what to expect?”
She nodded, searching his face for any emotion. Since they’d been caught together, they hadn’t shared more than a few polite words in front of company. He’d hardly looked at her. This was the first time she’d been alone with him in three weeks. She felt as if he were a stranger, this stern man who sat on her bed. With her, Graham had always been charming and relaxed. But the man sitting on her bed was tense, his expression hard and unwelcoming.
He leaned over to her lamp and lowered the flame until it went out, leaving only a curling bit of blue smoke in the moonlit room. The fire from the dying embers in the hearth offered little light, and he looked over to her window as if he wanted to shut the shades.
“All right, then,” he said, and he stood and dropped the robe, a whisper of sound.
Even though they had kissed and touched most intimately, even though her mother had given her the basics in an extremely awkward thirty seconds, Katherine found herself a bit frightened by what was to come. This is Graham, she told herself. But in the dark, with only shadows, he could be anyone. He didn’t speak, but laid his palm on the side of her head and gently drew her forward until they were kissing.
“Oh,” she said, so glad to have him kissing her, so glad he was familiar and no longer the cold man he’d been since Rufford Abbey. She opened her mouth to him and he deepened the kiss with a primordial groan, easing himself over her. The bedclothes and her own nightgown still separated her from his body, but she could feel the heat of him, feel his arousal already jutting hard against her thigh.
He moved one hand to her breast and she melted against him, remembering the exquisite feel of his hand and mouth against her nipple. She arched into him, silently telling him what she wanted. He pulled the covers down, then touched the hem of her nightdress, pushing it up over her thighs. In the dim light, she knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. She wanted him to say something, to tell her he loved her—or even that he liked her a bit.
Instead, he bent his head and took a nipple in his mouth, through her nightdress. He tugged and bit gently, and a piercing shard of pleasure shot to her core. “Oh God.”
With a small grunt, he leaned up and unbuttoned the top few buttons of her nightdress, just enough so that both breasts were exposed, and he made love to them with his mouth and tongue until she was writhing beneath him, wanting him to touch her between her legs, wanting him inside her. How odd to want something with near desperation that she’d never before experienced.
Her eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the moon and embers, and she could just make out a golden glow on his skin. He was beautiful, a living, breathing statue bathed in golden-red light, as if the last bit of a spectacular sunset was touching him. She watched him, his eyes closed, as he tugged his mouth against one nipple, as his thumb moved over the other, slowly and with exquisite care.
“Good. So good,” she said into the silence.
At her words, he brought a hand to her inner thigh, caressing, moving higher toward where she was wet and throbbing for his touch. When he finally, finally touched her, she lifted her hips in celebration. He moved his finger, back and forth, creating such a heat she didn’t know what to do with it. It was nothing like she had ever felt before; a hundred times greater than what she’d experienced with him before.
“Please, please,” she said, moving her head back and forth, moving her hips up and down, unaware she was even doing so. He inserted one finger into her body, inside her, carefully, slowly, exquisitely. And then, his thumb, his talented thumb, moved against her as his finger moved inside of her and she arched against him, her hips jerking, as a rush of raw feeling flooded her, making her body burn as never before, a pulse of pleasure that caused her to cry out.
Graham, his breath ragged, withdrew his finger and kissed her as he positioned himself between her legs. She felt him, large and hard and velvety soft, press against her where his finger had just been. Slowly, slowly, as his breath became more shallow. Finally, he lowered his head and kissed her hard as he thrust inside her all the way.
She let out a small sound of pain and he stilled, dropping soft kisses on her lips, her cheeks, her neck. He moved inside her and she burned, not with raw pleasure but with something decidedly less pleasant. He moved, thrusting in and out, and she wrapped her legs around him, not knowing what else she should do. His movements became faster and then his entire body tensed and he let out a moan, deep and harsh.
He lay atop her, resting most of his weight on his knees and elbows as his breath slowly returned to normal. He kissed her one last time before withdrawing and sitting with his back to her, on the side of the bed.
She wanted to lay her hand on his back, slick with sweat. She wanted to get on her knees and pull him toward her, to nuzzle her mouth against his neck. But his head was bowed and Katherine sensed he didn’t want her touch.
“Are you all right?” he asked finally.
She nodded, then realized with his back to her he wouldn’t see. “Yes. Of course. That was . . . lovely.”
He let out a small laugh and stood, grabbing his robe as he did. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.”
Katherine watched in dismay as he left the room and closed the door silently behind him. Perhaps this was what marriage was like in the aristocracy. A couple took their physical pleasure of each other then said good night. Perhaps that was what most couples had, but Katherine didn’t think it was what she wanted—or would accept.
Graham closed the door quietly, then pressed his back against it and slid to the floor, covering his ey
es with the heels of his hands. Hell, was he a woman? he thought as a wrenching sob shook his body. He pressed his hands harder, trying to push back the pain he was feeling.
She was beautiful, exquisite, and he’d wanted to love her forever. He’d wanted to lose himself in her, taste her, make her come over and over. He wanted to hear her say she loved him, because, God curse him for a fool, he still loved her. She’d been so damned responsive, he couldn’t imagine how good it would have been if he hadn’t been trying so hard not to care.
“Sir?”
Graham let out a curse.
“Did things not . . . go well?” Chase asked hesitantly.
Graham dropped his hands and laughed aloud. “Things went swimmingly, Chase. Can’t you tell? I was moved to tears.”
“I was preparing your clothes for the morning. I didn’t realize you’d be done so . . . quickly.” Mr. Chase closed his eyes briefly in an agony of mortification. “Of course, that did not come out as intended, my lord.”
Mr. Chase always got formal when he was embarrassed. “Do not worry yourself, Mr. Chase. All is well.” Graham stood up and held his hands out to his sides as if to prove he was hale and hearty.
“As you say, sir,” Mr. Chase said, giving him an annoyingly long, assessing look.
But of course, nothing was well and Graham wondered if anything in his life would ever be well again.
Chapter 16
Something was terribly wrong. It wasn’t that Graham was cruel—he wasn’t. He was all that was kindness, inquiring about her day as he read the Times. What did she have planned? Did she enjoy her outing with Mrs. Alcourt to find a new cook? Had she made any inroads finding a lady’s maid?
And at night he would come to her and they would make love and he would leave. While they made love, she felt loved. But after he left, she always felt like crying. Was it her or was it him or was this simply the way it was for everyone who was married? He hardly looked at her—while making love or not—and when they spoke it was almost always about things that could spark no real debate.
If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought someone had taken the passionate, funny man she’d fallen in love with and replaced him with a colder, sterner version of himself.
“Graham.”
He lowered the newspaper—only two days old by the time they got it—and raised an inquiring chin. His eye flickered to hers briefly, then settled on the plate before him. “Yes, Katherine.”
“We’ve received an invitation to Sir Peter McAllister’s for the fourteenth of November. Do you think we might attend?”
“Unfortunately, we’ll have to send our regrets as I plan to leave for London on the twelfth.”
The lump that had become a permanent fixture in her throat began to throb. “I am to stay here?”
“I see no reason for the expense of two of us going. I’ll be in business meetings with my solicitor and visiting Bryant Park to ready it for leasing.”
Katherine’s mouth fell open slightly. “You are leasing Bryant Park? Why?”
He made an infinitesimal shake of his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe how obtuse she was. In that moment, she saw just the slightest slip in his maddeningly even composure. “Oh, of course. You must feel awful about leasing the place.”
“Not really. I don’t intend to spend much time in London. I need to do some work to get it ready, paint and some repairs.” The newspaper rose up again, blocking her from view.
She looked down at a sausage on her plate and felt the overwhelming urge to throw it at the newspaper. She didn’t, for they purchased the meat from the local butcher and it was the only edible bit of food on the table. “How long will you be gone?”
“Not certain. But you may have some company. My sister wrote and mentioned she might come for a visit.” This was slightly muffled for he hadn’t even bothered to bring the paper down.
Staring at the paper, she picked up the sausage and held it like a cigar, pretending to puff away at it. “I should like to meet your sister.” Silence. “The sausage is quite good, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“The kippers, though, I have to say I don’t care for them.” She pretended to blow smoke rings, imitating her father, who had a talent for the trick.
“Hmmm.”
“I wonder if I might borrow one of the horses and ride while you’re gone.”
“Hmmmm.”
“I’ll probably take your black for a ride.” The black gelding was a nasty creature that would only let Graham ride him. The stable master wouldn’t even let her near the horse when she’d ventured in during her first week at Avonleigh.
“That’s fine.”
Katherine narrowed her eyes as she pretended to puff away at the sausage. “And then I’ll go to the horse auction. I imagine he’ll bring a pretty penny. If I sell him, perhaps I’ll be able to buy myself a new ball gown.”
“Fine.”
“Graham,” she said loudly. He finally lowered the paper and looked slightly annoyed. “How much do you think we’ll get for it?”
“Get for what?”
“The black gelding you just gave me permission to sell,” she said succinctly.
“I did no such . . .” She took another phantom drag on her cigar. He looked as if he wanted to laugh, but no sound came out. “My apologies, my dear. What were you saying?”
“Nothing of import.”
That night, when Graham entered her room, she pretended to be asleep. He stood by her bed for several long minutes before turning to go. After she heard the door snick closed, Katherine gave in to the tears that had been threatening all day.
The next morning, she went to breakfast in her dressing gown, her hair gathered atop her head and allowed to rain down upon her shoulders, making her look much like an urn with ivy bursting from it. Graham was already at the table and he greeted her with a perfunctory “good morning.” He actually raised his head and looked in her direction, but apparently not long enough to take in her appearance. Katherine smiled grimly.
“Graham, attire is more casual in the country, is it not?” she asked as she selected that day’s breakfast offerings. More sausage, certainly, and perhaps some browned potatoes.
“Yes.”
“Then I won’t have to change when I go into the village?” She turned to him, only to find him hidden by the Times.
“Not at all. You’re perfectly fine.”
One eye began to twitch as she pressed her lips together. Her hands went up to her dressing gown and she unbuttoned the top four buttons. Thank goodness the house didn’t have footmen waiting on the sidelines to assist them.
Instead of walking to the other end of the table, she put her plate adjacent to his, getting small satisfaction when he tensed—even if she didn’t draw his attention away from whatever riveting article he was reading.
“Are you certain it’s not too . . . casual?” she purred, bracing two hands on the table and leaning toward him. A bit of her ridiculously cascading hair brushed his hand, finally drawing his attention.
“What the—” His eyes snapped from her breasts, which were very nearly spilling from her gown, to her face and silly hairdo, and back down. “Good God.”
Katherine shoved away from the table and sat, buttoning up immediately. He placed a hand on hers, stilling her movements while she still had two buttons left to go.
“What is this about?”
“Do you hate me?”
He looked away and her heart tumbled. “Of course not.” “Then why can you not look at me?”
“Eat your breakfast, Katherine.” He sounded both weary and impatient.
“I want to know, what is wrong with you? You are acting so different and I don’t know why.”
“Don’t you?”
“No,” she shouted. “I do understand you are unhappy about the money. But I thought you at least liked me. You act as if you cannot stand to look at me.”
Even now, Graham found he could not look at her. It hur
t too much. He’d thought if he made love to her in the dark, he wouldn’t see her lying eyes. He’d get his release, he’d block his heart from feeling anything. But it hadn’t worked. He wanted her more and more.
“Eat your breakfast and meet me in the library. And for God’s sake, put on some clothes,” he said. He didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but it was all he could do not to drag her into his arms and make love to her on the dining room table. Did she not know what she did to him? How much he loathed himself for loving her still?
As he waited, he paced back and forth, stopping only when he heard her enter. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she’d obviously been crying. He should be glad for her tears, but they only made him feel abominable. At least if he had married Miss Von Haupt he would have had all that money. Now, he had nothing. In a way, Graham felt sorry for Katherine. She had what she thought she wanted only to discover it wasn’t so wonderful, after all.
“Please sit down,” he said softly.
She did as he asked, looking up at him. “What is wrong, Graham? I don’t understand what happened, why you seem so different.”
He ignored her question, ignored her pleading eyes, ignored that small but growing voice in his head that told him he had to be wrong. “I have one question for you. I thought I could move past this, accept what happened, but I find I cannot. I do not enjoy being cruel to you, Katherine. Clearly, you are as unhappy as I am.”
“Only because you are so different from the man you were, not only in Brighton, but at Briarbrook and Rufford Abbey. It seemed that you were rather fond of me then, and now it’s almost as if you hate me.”
“Do you really not know?”
“No,” she said, sounding exasperated.
“All right then. Why did Miss Von Haupt thank you as she was leaving?”
She gasped and grew slightly pale before her cheeks bloomed with color. “Wh-what?”
He knew then. He had his answer, but he wanted to hear it from her lips. He wanted her to tell him she’d planned it. “Why,” he said, his words as sharp as cut glass, “did Miss Von Haupt embrace the woman who betrayed her and then thank her?”
