Dear God, but he wanted to forget…wanted to forget this afternoon, this evening…his wrestling with his conscience, his struggles in the sea, his desperation to reach land. He wanted to forget all that had come before this moment, forget everything except for the woman in his arms, the woman rubbing her body against his with fierce abandon as though she, too, wished to forget the past, wished only to experience the intensity of the present and the glory of life that continued to flow through them.
He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her higher, until he had easier access to the sweet mounds of her breasts. He ran his tongue over the lily-white skin, circled the pink nipple, until he closed his mouth over the taut pearl and suckled gently. With a low moan and a digging of her fingers into his shoulders, she pressed the apex between her legs against his stomach.
He trailed his mouth over the curve of one breast, dipped his tongue into the valley between, and gave the same careful attention to her other breast, kissing, tasting, sucking, relishing the fact that he was alive to do so.
A part of him realized that it was madness to be here with her like this, that a civilized gentleman would have sent her on her way—or at the very least would have never approached her, but would have stayed at the far side of the bath. But the sea had beaten civilization out of him, had sent the gentleman within him into hiding until all that remained was the crude, uncivilized part of him that refused to be defeated.
He wanted Kitty, had wanted her from the first moment he’d set eyes on her. He’d wanted her in London, he’d wanted her here. He wanted to possess her as none ever had, touch her, hold her, carry her to the pinnacle of pleasure as he had once before—only this time he wanted to share the journey with her.
He didn’t recall making a conscious effort to reach the stairway. He only knew he was there, and that she was still wrapped around him. He climbed them effortlessly, water sluicing off their bodies.
Then he was laying her down on the bundle of blankets he’d brought from the manor that he’d intended to use to dry himself. They were not as thick, not as soft as a mattress, but they would serve him better than the bare stone floor.
Here within the tiny alcove that led to the changing room, shadows lurked and light fled. He couldn’t see her clearly, but it mattered not, for she was emblazoned on his mind: each detail, every curve, line, and tiny freckle. He wedged himself between her thighs as though he belonged there, and with one powerful thrust he drove himself into the heat of her sanctuary, into the blessed relief of affirmation that he still drew breath.
Kitty gasped, not certain if it was from the sharp pain that quickly passed or the wonder of Richard’s fullness stretching her, filling her, completing her. And then all thoughts vanished. Instinctively she lifted her hips, welcomed the deeper nestling of Richard’s body against hers, the slow rocking of his hips against hers, the arching of her body, the silent crying out for release. She heard tiny moans, little cries, barely recognizing the sounds as coming from her while his deeper groans echoed around her.
Bodies damp from the pool they’d recently left soon became damp with desire. Flesh warmed by the bath was heated by yearning. She felt incredible sensations spiraling through her. She felt as though her entire body was curling around his even as it tightened, even as she writhed against him.
They became a tangle of limbs, stroking, caressing, kneading, striving to touch all at once. He began to pump his body into hers, deeper, faster, harder…carrying her higher and higher and higher until she was suspended on the horizon—
Her scream echoed around them as he catapulted her over the edge into ecstasy. His guttural groan and last driving thrust began before her scream silenced, and she found herself tightening her legs around him, holding him closer.
Her body curled in on itself even as it seemed to flow away from her. Her harsh panting breaths matched his. His arms were shaking with his effort to keep his weight off her.
She skimmed her fingers over his back, along his shoulders. Then the tears that had begun earlier and stopped began again. For what she’d lost. For what she’d gained. For what should have never happened within this bathhouse.
For the guilt that swamped her. Her betrothed was only hours drowned, and here she was, lying beneath his friend, relishing the comfort of his body nestled within hers.
Disgust and shame flooded her.
What had she been thinking? She’d not been thinking at all. She’d only been feeling. Incredible sensations. For a while, no sorrow existed.
And now too much rushed in.
He pressed a kiss to her temple, her cheek, her jaw, and when he moved for her mouth, she turned her head to the side, averting the kiss he wished to bestow.
He lifted himself slightly, to look down on her more clearly she thought, but it was impossible to see plainly in the shadows. A reprieve from sight for which she was most grateful.
“Please, get off me,” she whispered.
With his thumbs, he rubbed her jaw. “Kitty—”
“Please get off,” she demanded.
Ever so slowly, he eased back. She was torn between the devastating sense of loss as his body left hers and the overwhelming knowledge that they should have never been joined to begin with. She didn’t want to remember her screams, or her cries, or her exploring hands. Grabbing a blanket, she scrambled back, striving to cover herself, to reestablish the propriety that she should have never lost.
“I want to go home,” she said, her voice low.
“I’ll help you get dressed, walk you back to the house—”
“No!” She shook her head frantically. “Home. Where my parents are. In London. Now.”
“Right this moment?”
Pressing a balled fist against her mouth, she nodded her head briskly. “Yes, I need them. I need them now. Right now.”
“All right. I’ll make the arrangements. Immediately.”
“Farthingham’s family—”
“Freddie left earlier to deliver the sad news. He preferred to do it in person.”
“I should have gone with him.”
“You weren’t in any condition to travel.”
And she was in even worse condition now. She’d not only lost Nicky, but she’d lost her virginity, her self-respect. She thought she might never be able to look at herself in the mirror again. And she definitely never again wanted to set sights on Weddington.
Chapter 19
Managing five estates at various locations throughout England might have been a daunting task for some men, but Richard had always welcomed and relished the challenge. This area of his life placed him at the helm completely and absolutely—as did his numerous business ventures. He sullied his hands with none of it, but his keen mind gave him the ability to lay out strategy and to issue orders as naturally as he breathed.
As he sat at the desk in his study at his London residence, with ledgers and reports spread before him like offerings before a god, he found his distraction unsettling. He could barely grasp a coherent thought that might help him to put into place a brilliant plan.
It had been nearly a month since Kitty had wept in his arms at the loss of Farthingham, a month since he’d awakened all the servants and set them to the task of returning to London. Anne and Lady Priscilla had also been ready to return. They’d all traveled back in his coach, quiet and solemn, as befitting the death of a dear friend.
Lady Priscilla’s penchant for gossip had assured that all of London would know before a week had passed that Farthingham had drowned at sea, and that his younger brother would acquire the titles. Titles few knew Farthingham had never wanted, had found burdensome and oppressive.
Richard had tried to pay Kitty a call, but she was in seclusion, mourning, not accepting visitors. He couldn’t determine how best to proceed. While he respected the mourning period, she was not a widow, and he hoped she had no plans to mourn an entire year. Although if forced to wait twelve months before pressing his suit, he would.
Farthi
ngham was gone. She had turned to Richard with her loss, and he’d turned to her for comfort as well, although he was certain she’d not fully comprehended his reasons or his needs. How close he’d come to death. His terror of the sea had not diminished that fateful night. If at all possible, it had intensified. They’d taken comfort a bit farther than he’d planned, but he had no regrets. He had every intention of marrying her…and if he had to seduce her again to achieve that end, then he would.
He would willingly do anything for her. As the actions he’d taken during the storm proved.
The door to his study quietly clicked open, and the butler entered. “A lady has come to call, Your Grace.” He presented the tray.
Richard read the name on the card, and his heart pounded with joy. He’d not had to go to her after all. She’d come to him. He nodded and came to his feet. “Show her in immediately.”
He fought not to be overly optimistic, not to unjustly hope that any reservations she might have had regarding his intentions had evaporated. He moved around his desk, wanting nothing between them, anxious to greet her.
Then she entered the room, a shadow of the vibrant woman she’d once been. He’d always considered her delicate, but now she possessed a frailty that startled him. She’d indeed taken the loss of Farthingham hard, much harder than he’d expected she would.
“Miss Robertson.”
“Your Grace.”
She failed to meet his gaze, seeming to focus instead on a pearl button on his black waistcoat.
“Would you like to sit?” he offered.
“Yes, thank you.”
She settled into the nearest chair, the one closest to the door as though she expected to have to make a hasty retreat. He forced himself to sit opposite her when he desperately wanted to kneel before her and ask her what he could do to ease her pain, to return her gorgeous smile to her lovely face. “Would you care for some refreshment?”
With her gaze lowered, she replied, “No thank you. I’m feeling a bit queasy from the journey here. I need a moment to steady myself.”
He watched as she closed her eyes and licked her lips. Her skin had no color, but more closely resembled the chalky bluffs at Dover.
“Perhaps a walk, a bit of fresh air would serve you better than this stuffy old room,” he suggested.
Opening her eyes, she nodded as though it took all her strength to do so. “Yes, thank you.”
He stood, extended his hand, and felt the slight tremors in hers as she placed it within his and rose to her feet. He led her across the room and through the French doors, onto the terrace, then beyond it to the perfectly manicured gardens. She shifted her hand to his forearm, but he was left with the distinct impression that it was only because her mourning had reduced her to a weakened state that forced her to accept his assistance. She would have preferred not to have touched him at all.
He damned Farthingham for his lack of insight, for not recognizing how she would suffer at his loss.
“Have you been eating?” Richard asked.
She shook her head slightly. “These days my stomach is in revolt.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Do I look as though I’m sleeping?” she responded tartly.
Her spark, albeit small, caused him to smile. “No. You look as though you have journeyed through hell.”
She stopped walking, faced him, held his gaze for only a heartbeat before tears pooled, and she glanced away. “I’m with child.”
Richard’s gaze darted from her eyes to her narrow waist. “Are you quite certain?”
“I have absolutely no doubt.”
Unadulterated joy shot through him like a strong wind into the billowing sails. Possessiveness so powerful as to almost bring him to his knees took hold. This remarkable woman whom he’d sought to win was now his…by default.
Joy abandoned him. She’d come to him not out of desire but out of need. She needed his name, and it was obvious studying her that she was not at all pleased with that necessity. “I shall make arrangements for us to marry, with haste.”
He thought it impossible for her to grow any paler, but she did. She pressed her lips into a tight line.
“That is the reason for your coming here, is it not?” he asked.
She nodded slightly, color rising in her cheeks. “I’d feared you would make this moment difficult.” She shook her head, swallowed. “You cannot fathom how very much I did not want this.”
And she seemed incapable of fathoming how very much he did. How could two people with such incredible passion evident between them be at such cross-purposes?
“On the contrary. You have made your true feelings regarding me perfectly clear. I cannot, for the life of me, determine why it is you find me so reprehensible.”
She released a brittle bark of laughter. “Can you not?” She punched her finger into his chest. “My betrothed is drowned at sea, and you took advantage—”
“I sought to comfort—”
“—and before that you used every opportunity to your advantage, seeking me out, attempting to seduce me—”
“Attempting? I had but to touch you, and you were clay within my hands, your passion to be shaped to match my desires. Argue all you want that you had to endure my touch at the opera, but not in Harrington’s garden. You had but to whisper no once, and I would have ceased my attentions, you had but to take one step back, and I would not have followed.”
“I cannot begin to express how much I loathe you.”
She spun on her heel. Reaching out he grabbed her arm, turning her about to face him. Fire was in her eyes now. He much preferred it to tears. But his anger was as livid as hers, his hurt cut just as deeply. “Now it is my turn to be perfectly clear. I will not have a wife who denies me. If I take you as my duchess, when it is but you and I, you may curse me into perdition as much as you want. But you will not show that side of our marriage to the servants, to my mother, or to my sister. You will play the role of faithful wife.”
She angled that perfect chin of hers. “For my child, I can even feign happiness.” Yet she looked to be brimming with sorrow. “I have no desire for my parents to know that I go into this union out of obligation.”
“Then we are of a like mind on that matter at least.”
She nodded. “I suppose we are.”
“Good. I’ll call on your father this evening to properly ask for his permission to take you as my wife.”
“I’ll let him know.”
The words had all been delivered with heated emotions, but lacked caring. Not at all how he’d planned to ask her to become his wife. Not at all how he’d hoped she’d accept.
He walked her to her carriage, thinking that he’d seen funeral processions that exhibited more joy.
It wasn’t until she was settled into the carriage that he finally spoke again. “It need not be bleak between us, Kitty. I can make you happy.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I think only Farthingham had the power to accomplish that.”
“You still miss him then?”
“I shall miss him until the day I die.”
His heart slammed against his ribs almost as loudly as the door’s closing. Signaling for the driver to drive on, he stepped back and stared after the retreating carriage.
He cursed himself, cursed Farthingham, and for good measure, cursed Montague as well. Farthingham’s death had only served to free Farthingham while trapping everyone else in hell.
Kitty sat in the parlor playing her third game of checkers with Emily in less than twenty minutes. Her mother was reading in a chair nearby.
Weddington and her father were in the study. What could be taking so long? Weddington was probably making all sorts of demands. He had the advantage. Her parents would try to protect her and the child, and they’d give away the farm to Weddington to achieve that end. He could ask for any amount, any consideration, any holdings. He could manipulate them as he’d manipulated her.
If only she hadn’t gone to the bathho
use. He hadn’t managed to fill the emptiness inside her. He’d only caused it to increase, because now guilt ate at her daily. Though not yet married, she’d been unfaithful. She’d given in to lust, desire, and her body’s yearnings. She’d succumbed to animalistic urgings. And now she’d be trapped in a marriage she didn’t want.
His harsh words kept playing through her mind like the worst lines in a play: I’ll not have a wife who denies me.
Yet how could she give him again what she’d given him before? She could still hear her screams of ecstasy echoing through the bathhouse, could still recall the splendor of his touch. When she should have been consumed by grief, she’d been consumed with passion.
She’d never forgive herself for what had transpired, never forgive him. Her hell would be living with a man who would constantly serve to remind her of her failings.
“I wonder what your father and the duke are discussing,” her mother said.
Ignoring her mother’s question, Kitty moved a checker that Emily had been patiently waiting for. Kitty couldn’t keep her thoughts on the game, and Emily was well on her way to trouncing her once again.
“Maybe the duke wants to marry Kitty now that Farthingham is dead,” Emily speculated, then quickly jumped two of Kitty’s pieces.
Kitty’s stomach jumped right along with her sister’s movements over the pieces. Honestly, Emily was too often too bright. Out of the corner of her eye, Kitty saw her mother furrow her brow.
“Why ever would you think that, Emily?”
Emily shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I thought maybe he fell in love with her the night he took her to the opera. He never took his eyes off her when he was watching her walk down the stairs, never stopped looking at her even after she greeted him.”
“What’s this?” Her mother scooted up slightly. “When did Weddington take you to the opera?”
Kitty slid another checker into place. “At the beginning of the Season. He and Farthingham had made a wager, Farthingham lost.” She watched as Emily jumped another piece and removed it from the board.
Invitation to Seduction.html Page 21
