Alistair placed a finger under her chin, turning her face up towards his. He searched the depths of her glowing amber eyes for a moment, seeing the pupils large and as black as jet in their centres, and then he sighed, shaking his head. “You planned this, didn’t you, Louisa? With a little collusion from Lady Bricknell, I don’t doubt,” he said with mild rebuke.
“Yes, I did—and Lady Bricknell did prove helpful. But this is no game,” she told him honestly, “and nor is it a contest. Enough is enough, Alistair. It may suit you to live the life of a monk—at least that is the impression you give me—but it does not suit me to live the life of a nun.”
He arched a sleek black brow. “I see. Well, you were the one who talked of being equal. What would you do about it?”
Louisa stared at him, unsure how to proceed now the moment had arrived when it was within her power to win him over. He was so incredibly masculine and stood so close that she was overwhelmed by him. A faint mocking smile curved his mouth as he waited patiently for her to make a move, his heightened senses darkening his eyes and tensing his features, but she would not be afraid of him.
Following her instinct, as Lady Bricknell had advised, she rose to the challenge in an impulsive attempt to communicate with him the only way she knew how. With an enticing smile, she raised herself on tiptoe and let her hands slide slowly over his silk shirt, feeling his muscles tauten as she placed them lightly on his shoulders and began to spark the passion that had lain dormant between them for far too long.
“I would do this,” she whispered, reaching up and placing a kiss on his mouth with gentle shyness, her lips as light as a butterfly’s wings, her heart hammering like a wild, captured bird’s, “and this—and even this.” And she continued to place tantalising little kisses on different features of his face, her warm breath caressing his skin, before stepping back.
Alistair responded with another questioning lift to his brows, giving no indication of the feelings her soft lips had aroused in him. No woman he had ever known had been capable of igniting such an uncontrollable rush of lust with just a few feather-light kisses. “And is that all?”
Louisa’s delicate brows drew together in confusion. “Are you criticising me? What else would you have me do?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can think of something.”
Tentatively she put a hand over his and smiled, drawing a deep breath. With no notion of whether what she was doing was right or wrong she moved closer, love her only instinct to guide her. All along his arm his muscles were tense as he watched her, a savage, wolf-like look in his eyes. Slowly she uncurled his fingers that were clenched in a fist, raising his hand and stroking the palm with the tip of her finger, lifting it a little more and placing her lips to its warm centre, feeling the sinews tense and then relax. She slid her fingers through his, lacing them together, feeling his eyes watching her, burning into her bowed head.
Still holding his hand, she drew him towards the bed, sitting and pulling him down beside her. They lay back and, smiling softly, she leaned over him, her breath warm as she kissed his mouth, and then held back a little, looking to see if she had reached him. His breathing had quickened and his eyes held hers like a magnet, but when she lowered her head and would have kissed him again he took hold of her and threw her back onto the bed, suspending himself above her, the sudden ferocious depth of his desire for her roaring in his ears.
“Oh, no. No more, Louisa,” he said huskily, unable to resist temptation, to withstand the glorious beauty of her. “This is where I take over.”
Louisa gazed up into his smouldering eyes, while his hands plunged into her hair on either side of her face, holding her captive as he looked down at her. “I know I gave you reason to think otherwise, but I am a novice at all this,” she breathed after his mouth had claimed hers in a kiss of violent tenderness.
“You seem to be doing very well to me, but I am sure you can do better. I remember I taught you well.”
“If you did, it was too long ago for me to remember,” she murmured with a trace of accusation, a gentle jibe as to his neglect of her.
“Then I shall have to teach you all over again.”
“As your wife, Alistair,” she breathed softly, “or as Miss Divine? As Lady Dunstan you only speak to me of tedious matters—of the children’s health, the state of the weather and household affairs—but with Miss Divine—” she smiled, fanning his mouth with her warm, sweet breath “—I remember the conversation being of a far more intimate and interesting nature.”
“Conversation is not what I want from you this night, Louisa,” he replied as he tried to control his hungry passion, looking down into her velvety eyes, now huge with desire. “But tell me, my love, what is your name tonight?”
“What would you like it to be?”
“What else but Miss Divine—my adorable lady of pleasure?” he murmured, proceeding to make love to her, pausing only long enough to discard his clothes and remove hers, flinging them to the far corners of the room in his impatience to be with her.
He became lost in the exciting beauty of her, and a sharp, wonderful ache tore through him as he lay with her, with a sensual joy that he hadn’t felt since that night when Constance had been conceived. His lips were warm, first on her mouth and then sliding down the long, graceful line of her neck, gentle, harmless, with the merest whisper of a caress. Then slowly, easily, where his lips had led, his hand followed and stroked, cradling her breast, soft to his touch, feeling her tremble against him, a trembling that spread over her entire body as his hand travelled downwards, over the smooth flesh of her stomach and then inward, to the gentle curve of her thighs, her skin like soft velvet.
Completely absorbed, Louisa was aflame, her body responding to Alistair’s caresses like an explosion of raging thirst. He held her in a state of bemused suspension, the sensations she had experienced once before melting her inside and out. He raised his head and looked down at her, his eyes travelling in wonder and rediscovery over her body, ripe and more mature after the birth of their child, and the thought of teaching her all she ought to know again—things he had already taught her when she had discovered hidden desires in herself she hadn’t known before—appealed to him.
He fastened his mouth to hers with cruel pressure, kissing her with a demanding savagery he was unable to control, feeling her lips tormenting in their intimate sweetness as he repeated over and over the compelling strokes and caresses on her naked flesh that aroused her to near madness, so starved was she for his love. She was devoid of will as she was possessed by a craving agony of desperation so great she thought she would die of it.
Pressing her back against the pillows, Alistair’s breath was warm on her throat as his arms dragged her fully against his hardening body, which moved over hers, capturing her hands and pinning them together above her head as candlelight caught the hot intent on his face. Their skin touched with a burning warmth, and Louisa moaned under the aggressive power of his body as her own unfolded and opened to him, like a flower opening to the warmth of the sun.
Afterwards Alistair rolled over onto his back, pulling Louisa close so that her cheek rested on his chest. She sighed, sleepy and languid, her expression one of perfect tranquillity, her slender, silky limbs entwined with his. Lifting a hand, she brushed her fingers lightly over his chest, smiling serenely as she traced the outline of his muscular shoulders, too happy to sleep, wanting this moment to last for ever. With the sheet draped carelessly over them and his arms around her, Alistair gently kissed the top of her head, glorying in the sheer heaven of holding her.
“Well?” he murmured. “Was it as good between us as the last time?”
“Yes. Better, I think.”
“And it will get even better.”
She sighed against him. “Are you sorry now that I followed you to London?”
“No, not one bit. Although I think it is only fair to tell you that I fully intended returning to Huntswood myself before the week was out.”
Louisa’s eyes opened wide in amazement and, raising her head, she looked up at him. “You did?”
“Mmm. You see, my darling, when I arrived in London I was the most wretched of men. The plain and simple truth is that I missed you. I was miserable without you, and I realised just how much you have come to mean to me—how much I care for you. I love you, Louisa. Deeply. And I know you love me. I can feel it when I hold you in my arms.”
“Yes, I admit it. I do love you, Alistair. I love you as much as it is possible for a woman to love a man. I have loved you for so long, ever since the very first time you took me in your arms and kissed me at Dunstan House—the kiss that sealed our bargain.”
“Bless you, my darling,” he said, with a raw ache in his voice, bending his head and kissing her lips tenderly, all the love that had been accumulating over the years since Marianne’s betrayal in that kiss. “The magnetism between us has been there from the start—too strong for us to deny. You are a beautiful and truly wonderful woman.”
“And am I to believe you love me for my beauty alone?” she teased gently, her lips against him.
His features became solemn. “No. I am not so stupid that I would have let your beauty alone make me love you. You have a multitude of other assets that I admire and love. You are a rare being, Louisa. You are everything I dreamed a woman, a wife and a mother could be—and more.”
Louisa tilted her head up to his and could see he was perfectly serious. “That is a compliment indeed, Alistair. Thank you.”
“I was tortured and ashamed of my behaviour—my anger towards you the day before I left Huntswood—and I wanted to return to beg your forgiveness, to tell you how sorry I was for everything I’d done. In my arrogance and pride I have been stupid and unfeeling in my treatment of you. You have loved me all along, and in return I have scorned you, humiliated you, and driven you to weep—and still you came here to try to put things right between us. How could I have likened you to Marianne? You aren’t remotely like her. You are everything she was not. She was vicious and ugly in her deceit, with no thought for anyone other than herself and Charles Meredith.”
Louisa rolled over onto her stomach and leaned on her elbows, her hair falling about them both as she looked at him lying on his back, one arm thrown casually above his head, as he spoke of his first wife.
“Tell me about her, Alistair.”
“When you asked me about her on the night I returned from Rotherfield I regret my anger—my tactlessness. I apologise most humbly, Louisa. I insulted you, which was unforgivable of me. You have every right to ask me about her, and I will tell you. It’s just that I’ve grown out of the habit of speaking about her. In fact,” he sighed, taking a handful of her sweetly perfumed hair that tumbled over his chest in a golden cascade and kissing its waves, “I rarely speak about her to anyone.”
“Not even to Mark?”
“No. It’s wrong of me, I know, but I cannot bring myself to.” He fell silent, looking ahead, wrestling with his troubled thoughts.
“Please don’t feel you have to explain anything to me, Alistair.”
“I want to. It’s time I did. It’s just that it’s difficult to know where to begin.”
“At the beginning is as good a place as any. What was she like?” Louisa prompted gently. “Was she fair—dark? What?”
“Her colouring was dark and she was extremely attractive. She was an only child, and hopelessly spoiled by her parents, who were wealthy landowners and lived in Kent. She was utterly selfish and I should never have married her,” he said quietly.
“Why? Why do you say that? You must have loved her.”
“At the time I suppose I did, which made me blind to her flaws. I first met her in London when I was twenty-one—young and impulsive—and we very quickly became friends. Unbeknownst to me she was already involved with Charles Meredith—a man I had heard of, living as he does in the neighbourhood. We had never met but his reputation had gone before him and I knew him to be a high-born man of pleasure. I believe it was understood from early on that he and Marianne would marry—which Marianne hoped would be sooner rather than later.
“It was unfortunate for her that Charles Meredith did not see it her way—or feel the same deep love I came to realise later that she felt for him, which became more like an obsession as time went on. He was greedy for excitement, and after bidding farewell to Marianne embarked on a tour of Europe. Secure in the knowledge that she was so besotted with him that she would wait, he promised to return after twelve months and marry her and settle down.”
“Are you saying that she married you on the rebound?”
“In a way, but there was more to it than that. I soon discovered that she used me as a pawn to get back at him. You see, Marianne had a vicious, vindictive streak, which did not become apparent to me until she became my wife, and it was not in her nature to wait. She was incensed by Meredith’s lack of feeling and consideration, and on meeting me—who she could see was quite bowled over by her beauty and charm—accepted my proposal of marriage.”
“You mean—she only married you to spite Charles Meredith?”
“Yes. And knowing we were neighbours was an added attraction. It meant that she would be able to flaunt herself before him—make him suffer for choosing to enjoy the pleasures of Europe instead of marriage to her. But she quickly regretted marrying me. She found the intimacies of marriage repugnant, and very soon began to miss the London social scene, having always enjoyed being fêted and adored by many men rather than being tied to just one—unless that one man happened to be Charles Meredith.”
“And did things get no better when Mark was born?”
His expression became grim. “No. If anything they were as bad as they could possibly get. She made my life a complete misery. She was not maternal and did not want to conceive—wanting to preserve her figure and her beauty. When Mark was born he disgusted her. She could hardly bear to look at him. I could suffer her rebuffs, her slights and her coldness, but the lack of thought for her son was beyond endurance.”
Louisa was shocked. Thinking of her own adorable Constance, she was unable to believe a mother could not love her own child.
“When Charles Meredith finally returned from Europe after two years, he was incensed that Marianne had not waited for him. Despite her intention to make him suffer for turning from her, she could not keep away from him. Unbeknownst to me they began seeing each other. As you know I have many commitments and it is necessary for me to spend some considerable time in London. Marianne always accompanied me, always enjoying herself to the full, but suddenly she began to refuse to leave Huntswood whenever I had to go to town.
“I thought nothing of it at first, but then the rumours began—rumours connecting her to Charles Meredith. I didn’t believe them—I didn’t want to believe that my wife was capable of such deceit—but the rumours could not be ignored and eventually I confronted her.”
His voice became hard as the memories he was unable to forget tore through him. “She delighted in flinging the truth in my face. She flaunted it. She was obsessed with Meredith—unable to resist him. It was a terrible time. I was unable to accept her betrayal. And then one day she told me she wanted to leave me—to divorce me. In my anger and my pride—and not wishing to besmirch my family name with something as shocking as a divorce—I refused to consider it.”
“Did you still love her?”
“No. By that time I despised her—but she was my wife and the mother of my son.” He fell silent, looking ahead, his expression bitter. At last he said, “I blame myself for her death.”
Louisa was so surprised she stared at him. “For what reason do you take responsibility?”
“She came to grief running away from me. If I had let her go and not gone after her, she would not have died. She drowned while trying to cross the river to go to her lover.”
“Oh, dear Lord! Alistair, forgive me, I—I had no idea—”
“How could you? There are few people who know what hap
pened—how it was between us. That night was similar to the night I rode back from Rotherfield, with the rain pouring down in torrents, as it had been doing for days, swelling the river to such an extent that it was already overflowing its banks. When I returned from London she couldn’t wait to tell me that she was carrying Charles Meredith’s child. She goaded me cruelly. I was devastated. I didn’t believe her, thinking she was saying it to force my hand into letting her go, and when she ran from the house I followed.”
“But why did she cross the river? Why did she not cross by the bridge?”
“Because she thought I would catch up with her and force her to return to Huntswood. When she was eventually pulled from the river and she looked at me—on the very brink of death—her face was such a mask of hatred…I shall never forget it.”
Louisa stared at him, shocked to her very soul, understanding at last why it had been so difficult for him to speak of these terrible events in his life. “How can you conclude that Marianne’s death was all your fault, Alistair? You cannot live the rest of your life as a martyr to misplaced guilt. Charles Meredith and Marianne were the guilty ones—not you. He is the one who ought to suffer. How did he react to Marianne’s death? How was he affected by it?”
“I think you know the answer to that,” he replied, with a cynical curl to his lips. “He blamed me, of course, and swore to avenge her death—no matter how long it took. But in no time at all he returned to London to all his old haunts—as arrogant as ever.”
“And—and was it ever proved whether or not Marianne was with child?”
“Yes, she was. The doctor who examined her on her death confirmed it to me—and I knew it could not possibly be mine—which no doubt made Meredith’s hatred of me all the more profound.”
“He did know about the child?”
“I imagine so.”
“And would you have let her go, Alistair? When you knew for certain she was to bear Sir Charles’s child, would you have consented to a divorce?”
An Innocent Proposal Page 28
