“What happened, Beatrice?”
She grimaced as another contraction ripped through her lower abdomen. “George, I tripped on the damned chair and fell.”
“Can you rise?” He helped her to a sitting position even as she shook her head.
“The baby is coming.”
“It’s too early.”
A sharp pain doubled her over, and she screamed. “I am aware! Get the doctor!”
George helped her rise and get into bed before leaving for the doctor. Harriet had just stripped her out of her wet and soiled clothing when Bea grasped her maid’s hand, desperation causing her to grip with more strength than was warranted. “There’s not enough time,” she panted. “The baby is coming now.”
Her maid paled. “What are we going to do? I’ve never delivered a baby.”
“Get the cook. She delivered the scullery maid’s baby last month.”
The next thirty minutes were a blur of screaming pain and mind-numbing exhaustion, but the cook had competent hands and a commanding voice, cutting through Bea’s pain and giving her the strength to continue.
“One more push,” the cook said.
Harriet held Bea’s shoulders, and she bore down as enormous pressure flooded her lower abdomen, followed by blessed relief.
A feeble wail pierced the room, and Bea sagged back against Harriet’s arms.
“It’s a boy, my lady,” the cook said. She had already cleaned and wrapped him, placing him in Bea’s arms. “And he looks like his father.”
Bea stared at the dark haired, golden-skinned child and sent her cook a panicked look.
“Or at least I imagine he does, having never met the man.”
“You need to get rid of the child, my lady,” Harriet said, fear creeping in to color her words. “The master will kill you when he finds out.”
Clutching her babe tighter to her chest, she said, “No. I can’t send him away. He’s all I have left of Luka.”
“Give him to me, my lady,” the cook said. “I can find him a good home. We’ll tell the master he was stillborn and you instructed me to send him away.”
“Never. He’s mine. I’ll leave if I have to, but I’m not getting rid of him.”
“It’s your funeral, my lady, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. The master is not a forgiving sort.” The cook gathered the soiled linens and left, her parting words tainting the joy of her son’s birth.
Bea slept, and when she did, her dreams were filled with secrets, forbidden love, and foreboding whispers of disaster yet to come.
Chapter 11
Herm, Channel Islands, September 1810
Sensual whispers caressed Luka in his sleep, and he shifted, flinging a muscled arm over his head. Soft, warm hands caressed his bare torso, trailing hot fire across his stomach to the straining flesh standing at attention below. When smooth fingers encircled his girth, he writhed, a groan trapped in his throat.
“You’re so warm,” his dream whispered. “And so hard.” Nimble hands caressed his muscled arms and silky tresses tantalized his chest, increasing his pleasure until it bordered on pain. Hot breath fanned over his naked skin as liquid heat traveled over his face and neck and onto his chest. The fiery trail progressed to his torso. Decadent, moist kisses pressed on the taut planes of his stomach. He was going to burst. As he had for the last two months, his dreams left him hard and wanting. Luka surfaced from his dream, his hands encountering silky soft skin, and pinned his dream-temptress to the mattress.
“What are you doing?” he asked. Moonlight played over her heart-shaped face, and her teeth flashed brilliant in the darkness.
“Good. You’re awake,” she said and wriggled underneath him.
He lowered more of his weight atop of her, and she stilled, unable to move under his coiled, lean hips. “I’ll ask you again. What are you doing?”
“It’s obvious, my husband. I failed to find sleep by myself. I came to seek your comfort.”
“You are naked.”
“As are you.”
“I don’t want you in my bed.”
She squirmed, and triumph flashed across her face as she encountered hard resistance, the traitorous evidence of how much he did want her in his bed.
“Liar.”
God would reward him when he died for his iron will and saint-like patience. Though if she kept wiggling underneath him, her pretty blue eyes soft with expectant passion, he was not going to be able to stop himself. He deserved a damned medal for what he was about to do. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She traced lazy figure eights over the warm skin at the small of his back. “Tell me you want me to leave, and I will.” His muscles tightened and shimmied as her roving hands traced lower onto the taut globes of his buttocks. “See? You don’t wish for me to go?” She bit the corded muscles of his neck.
He trembled above her and reminded himself of all the reasons bedding her was a bad idea. She was ill. She wasn’t in her right mind. She had breasts like a goddess and silky thighs he wanted to part and explore. His head lowered and bridged the small space between them. Her breasts were upturned and beaded, waiting to be tasted. A small taste will—
Reality intruded when a soft sough escaped between her lips. What am I doing? With a forceful shove, he pushed away from her, jumped from the small bed, and rushed across the room. One hand was on the door latch while the other yanked up his breeches with surprising haste.
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, a slight tremble in her sweet voice. “At least tell me what I have done to turn you from me. I…I promise I’ll do anything. Let me be your wife.”
Her plaintive plea had stopped his departure, though he remained turned away from her, his shoulders stiff and unyielding. He bowed his head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.” A warm, naked woman pressed against his back, and he stiffened. His endurance for her sweet charms was almost to the breaking point. He needed to leave. Maybe if he rowed to Guernsey, he’d bed one of those whores his grandmother had urged him to find. Maybe he’d jump off a cliff and dash his head against some rocks. Maybe—
She rubbed against him like a cat. “I want you. I know what I agreed to when we married. Don’t you want the same? Ever since I’ve awakened, you have shown me no affection, given me no embraces aside from those I’ve had to beg for. I wish to be with you, to have your warmth by me as I fall to sleep and your arms around me when I awaken.”
He shuddered in her arms, defeat resting heavy upon his shoulders. In his haste to save her from herself, he had wounded her pride and damaged her confidence. Once he had promised to never hurt her, and he had done nothing else since rescuing her. Exhaustion, guilt, and arousal created a potent, and albeit confusing, turmoil within himself. Resigned to capitulation by his own conscience, he turned and wrapped his arms about her, resting his head on her crown. She melted in his embrace, and tears dampened his chest. His arms tightened. “Shh. I’m sorry, Tris,” he murmured. “Ever since your accident I’ve been consumed with worry for you and your health. Your strength is returning, true, but I don’t wish to tax you with any unwanted attentions.”
“They wouldn’t be unwanted, Luka.”
“Maybe not, but hurting you is unacceptable. Until I know you are one hundred percent better, we will abstain.”
Thus having delivered his final say on the matter, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to her room. He placed her in the bed and pulled the covers over her body.
“Stay.” Tiredness slurred her words. “I shall sleep better with your arms around me.”
“We talked about this. Not until you are well.”
She held out her arms to him. “I promise I won’t ask for more than to have your arms around me. Please.”
He sighed and ran his hands through his hair, his shaky hands, but he slid under the covers with her. She snuggled in his embrace and purred a sigh of satisfaction.
“I trust you to keep your word. No more sneaking in my bed naked, and no more trying to seduce me.”<
br />
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
****
She had been asleep for hours, curled next to him like a cat in the sunshine. How she could sleep was beyond him. He could not. She had trapped him neatly in bed with her after all. Now, with her warm body, her warm, naked body, next to him, he was right where he didn’t want to be. Trying to be noble hadn’t worked. She took offense to his distance. What else could he do?
When she nestled closer to him, his body stiffened and throbbed against the rounded temptation of her bared bottom. He groaned and rolled to his back, hoping she stayed put, but she rolled with him and turned so her full breasts rubbed against his chest.
Lord, this is going to be an endless night. She flung a slender calf over his legs, and he swore he heard her purr.
If he didn’t disentangle himself soon, things were going to get a lot worse before they got better. She’d regain her memories soon and remember they weren’t married. If he made love to her before that time, to allow her to do her “wifely duties,” she’d hate him forever and take her secrets to the grave.
She had no idea what it meant to be a wife. He’d heard she’d married after he left and broken their engagement, but also that it hadn’t lasted more than two years. Bea’s brief society marriage had not prepared her to be a wife, let alone the wife of a clan leader. Maybe if she has to be a wife, I’ll finally get some sleep. A chieftain’s wife had a difficult job. Full days of tending to various familial needs would sap anyone’s strength, let alone someone recovering from a serious illness. While his family was not here, he was. She will be my wife. More importantly, it is my duty to show her exactly what being a wife entails.
Bea wrapped an arm about his waist, and he kissed her head. “Tomorrow, my dear, you shall find out what it means to be married to me.”
Chapter 12
London, England, January 1801
Bea jerked awake, disoriented from labor’s exhausting toll. Her husband loomed near the bed, expressionless save for the tight lines about his mouth.
“The baby,” she whispered. “Where’s my baby?” She pawed through the covers hoping to find his little dark head.
“Your baby is gone.”
“George?” She scanned the dim room until finding him seated in a chair near the window. “Where’s the baby?”
“The baby? You mean my heir?”
“What’s going on, George? You’re scaring me.”
He stalked to where she sat in the bed and paced beside her. “Imagine my elation when I returned with the doctor to find you had delivered our child. Imagine how my elation turned to surprise when I spied a thatch of dark hair and golden skin.”
“I can explain.”
“How you tried to foist your bastard off on me?”
“Where is he? What did you do to him?” She clutched at his hands, but he pushed her away.
“Dead,” he spat.
“Did you kill him?”
He uttered a harsh laugh. “As if I’d stoop to sullying my hands with mongrel blood. He was dead in your arms when I found you asleep.”
“You’re lying.”
“Consider yourself lucky I’m not, for if he’d lived, I’d have shown him no mercy.”
Bea wrapped her empty arms around her middle and rocked, hoping the movement would help ease the sharp edge of pain and grief. “And now?” she whispered, her head bowed.
“You’ll receive none from me. The life you’ve enjoyed as my wife? It’s over.”
Chapter 13
Herm, Channel Islands, September 1810
Today Bea’s invalid status ended and she learned what it meant to be his wife. Luka entered her bedchamber, snapped open the curtains at the ungodly hour of dawn, and rocked the mattress with his foot until Bea stirred. “Good. You’re awake.”
Bea moaned. “What time is it, Luka?”
“Time for you to make my breakfast.”
She rolled over and pulled the sheets over her head. “Go away. I’m tired.”
He ripped the covers away from her and slapped her rear.
She squealed.
“Get out of bed! You’ve lain abed long enough. It’s already nearing seven o’clock, and there’s much to do today.”
She scrambled to find the sheets and clutched them to her bosom. Pushing her riotous curls away from her face, she leveled him a hot glare.
“Luka! What are you doing?”
“I’ve told you it’s time to get up.”
“Get up?”
“To make my breakfast?”
“I’m sorry. Your breakfast?”
“Are you going to repeat everything I say? Yes, my breakfast. I’m famished.”
She scooted closer to the headboard. “What’s changed? Last night you were incensed with me. Today, you are annoyed but no longer angry. Your moods change faster than a summer storm, and my head aches from trying to stay abreast of your current frame of mind. What has whipped you into a foamy lather today, my nomad lord?”
He folded his large arms over his chest and stood with legs apart, using his power and size to intimidate her. “I’m hungry.”
Bea blinked, doing an admirable impression of an owl, yet she remained in bed.
“Well?”
She licked her lips. “I—but of course, Luka. I shall cook your breakfast. You’ve cared for me all these weeks. Please have patience with me. I have had little experience in the domestic arts.”
“Even you can slice bread and fruit and put on a pot to boil.”
“Thank you for the encouragement. I will try not to disappoint you.”
He tossed her a garment, a simple, satin frock of sapphire blue.
“How kind, Luka. Wherever did you find such a gown? This can’t be Aba’s.”
“Aba had this saved in a trunk for my sister. She won’t mind if you wear it, especially as you won’t be able to tend your duties in your night rail.”
“My duties?”
“Cooking, washing, cleaning, mending. Your wifely duties.”
She forced a cheery smile that did nothing to mask her irritation. “Sounds like there is much to do. I should dress.”
He didn’t budge. She gave him a pointed look which he ignored, so she let the sheet fall to the bed. Sitting on its edge, she raised her arms over her head and stretched. He growled at her blatant machinations and shifted his stance to ease some of his burgeoning discomfort. “I will leave you to get ready. Don’t be too long.”
Striding through the door, he latched it behind him and repaired to the kitchen, doing his best to hold back his laughter at her muffled curse behind the closed door. He’d given her much to mull over. Now it was time to wait and see who came out the door: his dutiful wife or a spitting hellcat.
****
“Oh, God. What have I done?” It was dark, the sun not even a faint promise of day on the horizon. Luka crept about the small cottage like a thief in the night, anxious to be out of the house and away from Bea. His plan had backfired horribly, and now he wished himself on the opposite side of the island. He gathered the last slices of bread from the loaf his grandmother had made before she left, took several apples from the sideboard, and hurried to the door.
“Luka? Where are you going?” Merde. Tris had caught him. She set her candle on the table, scrubbed her face with her hands, and yawned. “It’s not even light.”
“Ah, well, I was going to talk a walk, see if I could catch a rabbit or two for dinner tonight.”
“The sun’s not even out,” she said, and shuffled to his side. Laying a heavy head on his chest, she wrapped her arms about him. “And the bed is so cold without you.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Liar. You haven’t slept a night through in over a week, thrashing to and fro. It’s almost enough to make me lose sleep.”
“I beg your pardon. I have no wish to disturb your slumber. You go back to bed, and I’ll set out to find us some fresh game for dinner. I’ll be back later this afternoon.”
“This afternoon?” She raised her head from his chest to look at him in alarm. “But you haven’t eaten. I can’t send you out without a full stomach. I’ll go change and—”
“Don’t put on that dress.” If he had to live through one more day of seeing her flit about in her infernal dress, he was going to go mad. The fabric hugged her like a second skin, all her luscious curves accentuated for his perusal. As she attended to her duties, the soft fall of skirts swishing about her legs and swaying over the rounded swell of her buttocks drove him mad. Creamy shoulders bared to his ravenous gaze day after day and the lush swell of her breasts spilling over her bodice had prompted more than one late-night swim. Better she stay in her night rail, her plain, virginal night rail, than for him to suffer through one more minute of seeing her in her damned dress.
“What? Do I look hideous in it?”
He cleared his throat. “No, you look lovely.”
“Why can’t I wear it? You gave it to me to wear when I perform my duties. Cooking is one of my wifely duties, isn’t it, Husband?”
She had boxed him in there. “What I mean is, if you are determined to cook me breakfast, don’t bother getting dressed at such an early hour. You can cook as well in your night rail as you can in your dress.”
Not exactly a lie. A change of attire won’t alter her horrible cooking one way or the other.
He smiled under her sudden scrutiny and resisted the strong urge to squirm. Here he was, a grown man of one and thirty, squirming because a woman, not even a woman he was related to or tied to by marriage, leveled him with a no-nonsense look. Tris, though, had the knack of cutting through his posturing to find the heart of the matter. He imagined her shrewd intelligence was part of what made her such a good intelligencer in the first place. Sweat beaded on his forehead while he held her glare. Her lips pursed, and he resisted the urge to fidget. She’s on to me. Lord, this woman is too cunning by half. Maybe if I kiss her she’ll forget about all else, and I can make my leave. A sunny smile wreathed her heart-shaped face, which was clear of all former suspicion.
“All right. As long as I can feed you before you go, I shall refrain from pouting. I do so love my dress, but you speak sense. If you are eager to be off, I shall have to do without.”
Silver-Tongued Temptress Page 7
