She narrowed her eyes. “How flattering.”
“I mean it in the best possible way. Until I came here, I’d pretty much lost interest in sex.” He saw her look of disbelief and hurried on. “It’s true. Oh, I could certainly perform, but I wasn’t especially engaged. I’ve been told some women make shopping lists as their husbands pump over them. It was like that with me, as though I was a mindless machine, detached from the task at hand, thinking of something else entirely.”
To his dismay, Gemma rebuttoned her bodice. “What did you think about?”
He flopped back on the bed and tried unsuccessfully to kick off his boots. “It rather depended. When I was with a man, I’d often think of a woman I knew. With some women, I thought of men.” He felt his face flame making such a confession. “But when I’m with you, I think of you. Only you.”
“That’s a relief,” she said dryly.
“It is. I think about you all the time, Gemma, even when you’ve got soot on your nose or a wet diaper in your hand. It’s as if you’ve bewitched me.”
A corner of her lip quirked. “Ooh. Pretty sentiments if not pretty words. This is a very satisfactory conversation, even if you don’t think much of the whole courting ritual.”
“I’m not courting you now!”
“I admit the bit with the wet diaper lacked delicacy. But you’re speaking from the heart, and I like that.”
Andrew snorted. “I have no heart.”
She didn’t argue but raised herself up on an elbow to look at him in the firelight. “If I let you make love to me tonight—”
“Have sex,” Andrew corrected.
“Again, a failure of delicacy. If we have carnal relations, I don’t want you to think I’ll succumb to every pretty word you say and fall into your arms with regularity. We are still getting to know each other, and I need to preserve some semblance of propriety.”
“Not an inch of you is proper, Gemma. You are the most vexing, the most maddening, improper female I’ve ever met.”
“Good.” She sighed happily. “You may ravish me.”
“I’m not sure I want to now.”
Gemma punched him. “Take off your clothes this instant! I might change my mind, too. Any minute.”
Andrew pulled his watch from his pocket. “One ... two ... three ...”
“Oh! You are insufferable! Never mind then. Who knows when I’ll lose my head and let you take advantage of me again.” She tried to roll off the bed, but Andrew’s arm shot out to hold her down. “Release me, you great brute. I’ll scream.”
“You’d wake Marc, and you wouldn’t want to do that.” Andrew knew he had her there. She was much too conscientious when it came to his son.
“I won’t enjoy myself,” she said stubbornly.
“Oh, I think you will. I know I will. This is all I’ve dreamed about for weeks.”
“What do you mean by ‘this’?” she asked, her voice faint.
“This,” he said, nipping an earlobe. “And this.” He took advantage of her blink and kissed an eyelid, feeling her lashes tickle his chin. “Touch me, Gemma. I’ve never been harder for anyone.”
Her hand came between them to caress his rigid shaft.
“How is it that you can be so aroused when we’ve been arguing?”
“I’m hard all day for you, Gemma. I’ve just said. Devilish uncomfortable every waking hour. When I’m asleep, too.”
She looked at him, her expression sober as a nun’s. “It can’t last. The lust, I mean. You’ll tire of me.”
He brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “No doubt. And you’ll tire of me. Let’s see how long it takes for us to tire of each other, shall we?”
She bit a lip. “This is not the time for honesty.”
“I won’t lie to you, Gemma. I’ve lied too much all my life. There very well may come a day when I look at you over the breakfast table and wonder why such a scrawny little brown thing ever drove me to such madness as marriage. By then, though, you may be fat. And gray. Possibly toothless.” He kissed his way along her jaw and watched her pulse jump.
“You will be bald and have a paunch yourself,” she said, gasping as he lifted her skirts.
There simply wasn’t time to undress—he’d spill into his breeches unless he got inside her right this instant. Her little hand worked to unfasten his falls, and he sprang to freedom.
“I can’t wait. Sorry.” He stroked her folds. Short, sharp spears of hair had grown back in since the time he had shaved her. He would tend to them again later so he could feast upon her without obstruction. His mouth watered at the thought, but right now his other end was desperate. He plunged in two fingers. She was as slick and wet as he was hard. “Arguing seems to be an aphrodisiac for us.” He balanced over her, looking down. Her eyes were open, assessing. “I’ll make it up to you later. With more delicacy.”
“Do you hear me complaining?”
“Not yet.” He thrust into her, sliding back quickly, teasing. She clutched his rump and pushed him in again.
Tight.
Hot.
Heaven.
Their eyes locked as Andrew drove into her, twisting and pressing himself against her sheath, the distance between them disappearing into jagged bliss. He even relished the splintering pain in his arm as he held himself above her. He could watch her face this way, her sweet face, kissed by tiny dark beauty marks and golden freckles. Her lips were slightly parted, a damp curl spiraling on her cheek near the corner of her mouth. He kissed it away and then plundered, his tongue matching the stroke of his cock, deep, deliberate, slow. Her eyes flickered and shut, and a low moan trembled in her throat.
He held to this tortuous, fevered rhythm until her hips lifted and her heels dug frantically into the small of his back. Her capitulation was glorious. The scent of her sex filled his head, made him increase his pace and edge her over. She writhed helplessly beneath him, gasping into his mouth, her own hand thumbing her bud. She was shameless and perfect and tasted like sin.
No, not sin. To kiss her like this could not possibly be wrong. In fact, he felt closer to right than he ever had.
Too good. Too perfect. It was almost too much.
Breaking the kiss, he raised himself up again. Sweat poured from his body, causing him to regret his hastiness to get inside her. His linen shirt was stuck to his back, and Gemma was crushed by yards of tossed-up skirt. They should be naked, skin to skin. But he could still see the flush spread from her cheeks to her throat to the tops of her breasts beneath her buttoned dress. The rest of her was pink, too, including the exquisite muscles that clenched around him, forcing his pleasure. She still keened and shuddered under him, greedy and heedless, squeezing his cock until he had little choice in the matter but to spend endlessly inside her.
Her eyes opened, her focus pure. Though they glittered with tears, her smile cleaved his heart.
But he had no heart. He’d just said so.
This was simply passion. Gemma was good for him, and good for his son. He could manage to cobble together the qualities of a husband for the sake of his child. Gemma was inventive and attractive and intelligent. A fine companion—when she wasn’t dressing him down or falling asleep on him.
He lay atop her, steadying his breathing, although if she kept twitching like that he would not be responsible for what came next.
“You did not even remove your boots,” she complained into his cravat.
“I told you I was in a bit of a hurry. Shall I get off you? We can do the whole thing in reverse until we’re both undressed, and then we can begin again.”
Gemma’s eyes clouded. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I assure you, madam, my recovery time is the envy of every other man of my acquaintance.”
“Brag all you want, but I think we’ve made a mistake.”
He rolled off. “A mistake! Now I’m offended. Just because I was a little precipitate doesn’t make the act wrong. You told me to ravish you, and I obliged.”
/>
“Andrew, the point of our courtship is to get to know each other. We already know that we’re compatible in the bedchamber. As you’ve often pointed out, you’re compatible with anyone.”
“A direct hit.” He said it jokingly, but he truly was stung. He did not need her to remind him of his shortcomings. He resolutely stared at the shadows on the ceiling instead of her earnest little face.
“I see what you’re trying to do—you think you can seduce me and tie me up in knots so I’ll have no objection and do your bidding, whatever it is. Marry you. Follow you to—Antigua? Is that what you’ve decided on? Or is it Barbados? It changes every night. But you can still get my company as Marc’s governess without marrying me. Marriage lasts a lifetime. I shouldn’t want to be forced to smother you in your sleep if you disappoint me.”
“Now I’ll have to sleep with one eye open. How have I disappointed you, Gemma? I’m being as honest with you as I can.”
She sighed and wiped the tears away. “I know. I just wish you’d realize—” Her vexing little mouth snapped shut. “Never mind. I’m being a shrew. Thank you, Mr. Ross. The encounter was lovely.”
“ ‘The encounter was lovely,’ ” he mimicked. “You make it sound like we took a stroll together. And do stop calling me Mr. Ross when no one else is around. You know what my true name is.”
“I do it so I won’t make a mistake, Andrew. What if those men are still looking for you?”
“Jesus.” He pushed his hair from his forehead. Now she’d given him something else to worry about. That afternoon on the boat had joined his triple-nightmare to become a quartet of uneasy dreams. It was just as well Gemma refused to sleep beside him—she’d bear the brunt of his thrashing and shouting.
Odd that he never felt an instant’s guilt about the death of Gianni’s henchman. But Nicky, and even the old bastard Donal Stewart, still haunted him.
Oh, he was becoming maudlin. This encounter, as she called it, was supposed to relieve his tension and soothe his black soul. Now she’d stirred up memories he’d crossed the Sea of Hebrides to avoid. He sat up.
“If anything happens to me, Gemma, I want you to take Marc to the Christies. They’ll take care of both of you, not out of any love for me but because it’s the right thing to do. Edward Christie is the epitome of duty, and Caro has a foolishly warm heart when she’s not throwing things.”
Gemma’s eyes were wide. “I’m sure nothing will happen to you. The Italians have probably forgotten about you by now.”
Andrew shrugged. “Gianni must know I’m still alive. Word surely got around about our stay in the fisherman’s cottage. He pawned my jewelry for me so I’d have enough to travel on.”
“Didn’t you tell me he’d say that he found your body washed up on shore?” By now, Gemma knew virtually every one of his secrets from their nightly talks. He’d not even spared her stories that shone a very dim light on his character. If she was to marry him, she’d said reasonably, she wanted to touch all his invisible warts. The confessions had been oddly liberating, and it was amusing to watch Gemma try to come up with some girlish scrape to vie with his years of wickedness. Her relationship with Franz was the closest she had come to falling off the straight and narrow path, and he dismissed it as childish infatuation. Everyone was entitled to make some mistakes, even if the number of his rather strained his allotment.
Andrew gave a twisted smile. “That was the plan. I had to make drawings for him, too. It seems the only person lately who understands me is you.”
“I do understand you, you know, and I like you just the same.”
Andrew was relieved she didn’t say she loved him. There’d been no more talk of love since New Year’s. He had the feeling she was thinking it, though, when she came apart a few minutes ago. Women cried when they thought they were in love, and Gemma’s eyes had been filled with liquid crystal.
How many times had Andrew been the recipient of tears and entreaties from past lovers? He’d never softened, just counted his money and moved on. He had plenty of money now. Beyond his investments, he’d been remembered kindly in an old duke’s will, much to the mortification of the man’s children. Andrew didn’t bother to explain that he’d played chess with His Grace more often than let him suck his cock. The duke was lonely despite his enormous wealth and privilege, and Andrew had time to be a friend. He’d be lying if he said he never expected recompense, but the amount had been a most welcome surprise.
“So marry me, Gemma, if you like me so much.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m considering it. You really ought to stop pressing me. There’s no one to do the deed here anyway. The priest is not due until the spring.”
“Can’t we stand inside a ring of stones and chant something?” he teased. “You know I’m a heathen.”
“These islands have been considered to be holy places for centuries. There’s something quite mystical about them. That probably would work.”
“Yes. I’ve read up. I know I’m not the first hermit to live out here.”
“Some hermit you are with a woman in your bed.”
“Right where you should be.” He skimmed a finger across her lip. “We could go to the mainland to marry.”
“How? Walk on water?”
“Don’t you be a heathen. The Lord will smite you if you mock.” He grinned at her look of outrage. “At some point, my dear, the ferry will return. All of us could take a trip. Make a holiday of it. We’d have to spend three weeks somewhere for the banns to be read.”
“But we’re not members of any parish.”
“Details, details. I can afford a special license, though. Perhaps that might be best. And then we could go on a honeymoon—somewhere warm. Tropical. Turquoise waters as far as the eye could see. Why, we just might like it so much we’d stay forever.”
“I should have known this is just a ruse to get me to agree to go to the Caribbean.”
“I don’t see why you’re so reluctant. Batter Island is hardly paradise. We haven’t been outside for days.”
“I haven’t time to go outside! Oh, I do wish Mrs. MacLaren would get well and come home.” She looked at her red, rough hands with resignation.
“I’ve had no luck getting more help, Gemma. I’ve drawn so many damn pictures my hand is sore.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I don’t understand why people are opposed to coming here.”
He may have been telling her everything night after night, but this one little nugget he had held in reserve. “Best as I can tell, it’s because of the ghost.”
Gemma sat straight up to join him against the headboard. “What?”
He patted her shoulder. “Calm yourself. We’ve seen nothing untoward, but apparently—” he lowered his voice to an ominous rumble—“the ghost of the old birder haunts Gull House.” He grinned. “Or at least the islanders think it does. That’s why everything was left just as is here for decades.”
“Ridiculous! I don’t believe in ghosts.”
“I quite agree. But you must admit the house is rather noisy. The people here are a superstitious lot. You said it yourself—the island is one of those ‘thin places,’ where the spiritual and the temporal worlds collide.”
“Wind. Uncaulked windows. Faulty construction.”
“Yes, yes. Your practicality does you credit. A pity the natives are not blessed with your attitude. So you’d better get used to the domestic drudgery if you insist we stay here. At least you have Mary to help you. She isn’t frightened—a ghost is probably less fearsome than all her little brothers.”
“I can’t believe people here would turn down your money on the basis of some silly ghost story.”
“I’m surprised myself.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head. “But where would they spend it? They haven’t much, and are used to it that way. They’re happy enough to eat shag and puffins, and Lord knows they’re plentiful. I’ve never seen so many birds in my life, even in the dead of winter. I thought birds were smart e
nough to head south. Just as we should.” He winked at her.
“You are incorrigible.” She made no effort to undress or leave the bed, and Andrew was encouraged to finally take off his boots, stockings, and breeches. He didn’t miss the keen interest she showed in his naked body as he warmed himself before the fire.
“Stay with me tonight, Gemma,” he said softly.
“Tell me more about this ghost, and I might.”
“You want a ghost story to frighten you enough to give in to me?”
“I can take care of myself against any old shade. No, I’m just curious.”
Andrew sat back on the bed. “Shove over. I want to get under the covers.” Once he’d arranged himself so that his manhood was properly covered from Gemma’s speculation, he began.
“I don’t know much, really. From what I’ve been able to piece together, the old man who lived here fell to his death from the cliffs. I gather he was looking for nests. Probably slipped on bird droppings, poor fellow.”
Gemma’s brow wrinkled. “That’s it?”
“Remember the language barrier, love. As far as I know he didn’t place a curse on the house when he fell, but no one’s lived here since. I do know the MacEwan was over the moon to find an ignorant sod like myself to buy it.”
Gemma sniffed. “That’s not a very good ghost story at all. Caterina would have done much better.”
Andrew knew Caterina was Gemma’s childhood nurse. He settled against the pillows and drew her to him. “So tell me one of hers, then.” Idly, he fingered Gemma’s buttons, and she didn’t slap his hand away.
“Let’s see. Two boys were once walking in a beautiful garden. There were bougainvillea and oleander. Cypress and cedar trees, marble statues. Wisteria tumbling from arbors. Roses of every color—”
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but I don’t think boys would care about all the flowers. Now the statues—if they were of naked goddesses—that might be a different story.”
“Be quiet. The boys were walking in the most fabulous garden in all the world, with flowers of every description, which they noted because they were training to be scientists, when they saw a woman in the distance. She was not naked, but veiled and mysterious. Because they were training to be scientists their curiosity was piqued, and they followed her even though their parents had told them to never speak to strangers.”
Master of Sin Page 24
