Marrying Mischief

by Lyn Stone

  Go slowly, gently, he told himself as he battled the beast within, the one intent on branding her his without any further delay.

  “Nick,” she whispered against his lips, and the rush of desire was too much. Her fingers slid through his hair, gripping, urging another kiss when the last was not yet finished.

  He tugged at the nightshirt, wanting it off her, wanting nothing that belonged to another to touch her.

  How silken was her skin beneath his hands, how hot and smooth and soft. And his. Her breasts were so firm, budded for him in their eagerness to be touched, tasted, treasured.

  He drew his mouth from hers and trailed kisses down her neck, his lips open to trace the sensitive curve that led to her shoulder, then back across the swell of her chest. And there, ah, there, the sweetness of her almost unmanned him in the instant he took her in his mouth.

  She shuddered, and her sound of pleasure shot through him like a shard, slicing away any thought of slowing to ensure her needs matched his. Surely they did, how could they not? Never in his life had he abandoned all finesse and rushed a woman so, but he could not pause, much less stop himself.

  At last he held her skin to skin, the sweet friction more than he could bear, wrenching a groan from him he could not suppress. Too fast, too much, too soon.

  He loosened his hold on her for a moment, clenching his eyes, his fists and his teeth, grasping at some vestige of civility that might contain the wildness she inspired in him. He propped on one elbow, ran a hand over his face, then looked at her.

  She held up her arms in welcome and Nick’s valiant effort nearly crumbled. He inhaled a deep breath and let it out, his eyes closed against the vision that lay before him. He started counting slowly to ten. He made it to five.

  “Now, Nicky,” she murmured. “Please.”

  He covered her immediately, though he had gained enough control that he braced himself on his arms. Looking down into her eyes, he saw her desire, a living, breathing entity within her as strong and demanding as his own. He was as humbled as he was relieved.

  He knew he should speak, tell her how he loved her, how beautiful she was, but there were no words powerful enough to say these things, so he kissed her again. He lowered his mouth to hers as gently as he could manage and ravished her thoroughly while his body sought even more.

  Her legs parted beneath him and he lay between them, pressing himself against her, seeking her heat, her full acceptance, her heart.

  She shifted, opened more and he surged forward into her, meeting a resistance he could not ignore. He had known she was innocent, had never doubted it, yet in his eagerness to make her his, had almost forgotten.

  “Please,” she repeated, so softly he could hardly hear it. “Do not stop.”

  Nick brushed her brow with his lips, her eyelids, feeling the tickle of her lashes against his mouth. “Soon,” he whispered. “Soon now.”

  He braced on one elbow, struggling for control as he caressed her face, touched the rapid pulse at her neck with his tongue, trailing it down to the dusky rose of her nipples and around each one. The wordless murmurs of her response fueled his exploration.

  Lower he kissed, sliding his body down the length of hers until his mouth rested in the slight hollow between her hips. He nuzzled the edge of her golden curls there with his breath, then moved to graze his teeth along one hip bone, then the other. She stirred restlessly, her hands fisted in the covers.

  Would she protest? he wondered, but not for long. His mind flew into the delicious fog of passion.

  The scent of her, the soft down that would soon welcome all he would offer drew him inexorably closer and closer still. He kissed her, ravishing her there as surely as he had her mouth. She cried out, moving against him, pleading until he felt the tremors of her release begin. Smoothly he moved over her and entered her again, this time with a surety of welcome neither of them could doubt.

  Now her body offered little protest as he slid inside her with a swift and steady thrust. He thought he might die of the pleasure then and there. “Emily,” he gasped, just to hear her name, to reassure himself it was truly her in his arms. It was not enough. “I love you,” he added, as effortless and sincere a declaration as he had ever made. “I didn’t know before.”

  “Yes,” she answered, a mere breath of a word. And she arched against him, seeking more than he was giving.

  Nick wanted to laugh. The demanding little chit would not allow him to savor this. Once he began to move, he knew he would be lost, unable to prolong this by will alone. And she was not helping.

  He began slowly, knowing she must adjust, learn how. But she would have none of his hard-won consideration. He gave himself up to the rhythm she set, thrusting faster and faster, feeling the tension mount higher and higher until she came apart in his arms with a joyous cry. Nick joined her, reveling in a completion so keen and intense, he thought—hoped—it would never cease.

  When the room stopped spinning, he realized he was crushing her into the mattress with his weight. With tremendous effort, he lifted himself away from her and lay down at her side. He snuggled her close against him, burying his face in the tangled curls beside her left ear. She smelled of sandalwood soap, a scent he was fairly sure he could never again associate with a man. He would gift Guy with something else to use, and perhaps a rose scent to offer any future houseguests.

  Next time Emily would smell of flowers, he supposed. Each time with Emily would be unique, special, so satisfying as to be otherworldly. Maybe she was a witch, he thought with a smile. He was certainly bewitched, no doubt about that.

  “Did you mean that?” she asked hesitantly.

  “Oh, my sweet lady, I put my very heart into it,” he assured her with a half laugh. “Why? Did it seem less than you expected?”

  She laughed, too. “Not that. When you said you loved me, were you serious?”

  He brushed his hand over her cheek and cupped it, kissing her lightly on the lips. “I have never said those words to a woman before. Of course I meant it.”

  She released a sigh and closed her eyes. “We never had our talk in the library. You know, to settle matters between us.”

  Nick reached down and pulled up the coverlet, tucking it around her. “I would say we have fairly well settled them now, wouldn’t you?”

  He watched her smile, her eyes still closed. “For the moment. Could we settle matters again in a little while, do you think?”

  “A greedy wife, just what I need,” he teased. He felt light enough to float up to the ceiling. Happy enough to die smiling.

  “Do you think I’m wanton?” she asked. He felt her tense.

  “Oh, absolutely,” he assured her.

  She nibbled on her fingernail for a second, a habit he’d not seen her employ since she was eight or so. Then she moved her hand and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “You know I wasn’t supposed to undress.”

  “You didn’t. I did it for you,” he reminded her. “Who told you that you weren’t supposed to?”

  She sighed. “I read it in a book. Well, the book was not for ladies, as you might well imagine. It did advise that a gentleman was only to, uh, lift the lady’s nightrail. And he should remain clothed.”

  Nick stifled a laugh and slid his palm up her midriff to cup one small breast. “Sounds dreadfully tedious. Like sampling lemon ices through a cheesecloth. Difficult to get the full effect, I should think.”

  She giggled. “Yes, but we did it all wrong, you know. According to that book.”

  He slid his arm beneath her and rolled her on top of him. “Then I expect we’d better find that book of yours and get this right one of these days. Tell me, do you recall any particular exercises we might implement until we locate these rules?”

  She melted atop him like a hot, soft blanket of silk and nipped him gently on the chin. “Not a one comes to mind. I guess we shall have to muddle along as best we can in the meantime.”

  “I have an idea,” he growled as he lifted her hips and sett
led her in place.

  She smiled down at him, a lazy look of both contentment and anticipation in her sky-blue eyes, her golden curls draping around her neck and tumbling down to tickle his chest. Her exquisite breasts flush against him. “I am so glad you came home, Nicky. I missed you.”

  He felt his eyes mist and a sweet aching in the vicinity of his heart. “You are my home, Emily. And I should have been here all along.”

  The next morning, Emily awoke alone in Duquesne’s bedchamber. In a way, she was glad Nick was not there. After such a night, she knew she must look an absolute fright. She hugged the pillow to her, burying her smiling face in it. He loved her.

  She relived every moment of their first night as lovers, recalling in minute detail the touch of his hands, his mouth and the wondrous sensation of him inside of her, becoming a part of her body as he had always been a part of her soul.

  The scent of him still clung to her and his words echoed in her mind. Words she had longed to hear for what seemed all of her life. She remembered the expression of absolute awe he wore when their bodies joined for the first time.

  A wave of need encompassed her, just remembering it all, and she suddenly wished above all to share it. She wanted him here more than anything now. Savoring was one thing, but experiencing the joy again would be much better. She must tell him of that when he returned.

  At last Nick was hers.

  Even in the harsh light of day, she still believed his words of love. He had convinced her beyond all doubt that he loved her just the way she was. Emily had wanted to tell him that she felt the same and that her feelings for him probably ran even deeper than his for her, but they had fallen asleep before she could find the proper words.

  He had put it so poetically, she thought, especially for a man who hated poetry. That only made it more meaningful. Nicky, who could be gruff, his wit acerbic, his compliments double-edged, had doled out romance as if he had invented it himself and saved it all for her alone.

  She laughed and rolled to her back, arms outflung as if to embrace the world. She needed to phrase her own avowal of love for him just so. Surely he knew already how much she cared, but the words should be profound enough that he would always remember them, as she would remember his.

  What if he returned and found her like this? Would he mind seeing her this tousled, her skin reddened by the heat from last night’s fire and portions of it aggravated by the arousing abrasiveness of Nick’s evening beard? Well, he might, she thought. But she should tidy up a bit in the event that was what was expected of her. This was no honeymoon, after all. They were guests in his friend’s house. She pushed herself out of bed and strolled naked over to the ornate washstand where sat the large pitcher of water and matching bowl.

  Her movements unhurried, she bathed herself with the linen cloth she found there. But when she would have dressed to meet the day, Emily remembered she had nothing to wear other than the nightshirt Guy had loaned her after her bath in the kitchen. Would he mind if she borrowed something else until Nick could fetch her a dress?

  She shamelessly plundered Duquesne’s wardrobe, locating a pair of twill trousers, a fine lawn shirt and a pair of black stockings. Delighted to think what Nick would say when he saw her in such attire, she began to fashion herself a rather outlandish costume for his amusement.

  Fortunately, Guy had a narrow waist and hips. His trousers almost fit her except for the length. She cuffed the hems underneath and the stiffness of the fabric held them in place.

  The unstarched shirt reached nearly to her knees, but was soft enough that it did not bunch much around her hips when tucked inside the breeches. She found a pair of sleeve garters and gathered up the excess length hanging down her arms.

  Feeling rather jaunty, she pulled on a striped waistcoat and buttoned it up to cover her breasts. Insignificant as they were, they had been fairly evident through the thin lawn of the white shirt. She looked in the mirror and laughed again. Nick would love this.

  “Medusa,” she commented to her reflection as she tugged on the flyaway curls that formed a halo ’round her head. She attacked her hair with Guy’s brush and smoothed it as best she could. “No pins,” she grumbled. “A shoelace!” she exclaimed as she rifled through a drawer. Once she had tied her locks in a queue, she surveyed the overall effect of her getup and grinned.

  She swaggered this way and that, momentarily regretting the lack of shoes. Guy had a shelf replete with boots and shoes, but his feet were twice the size of hers. It hardly mattered, Emily decided. It wasn’t as if she was going anywhere. She would wait for Nick here.

  He would collapse in paroxysms of laughter the moment he saw her, she thought. How she loved to see him laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and that elusive dimple in his left cheek winked at her. She’d seen him laugh too little since he had come home. There had been a time when she had known just how to banish his serious side.

  Perhaps he would enjoy divesting her of her male disguise and discovering her feminine charms beneath it. Would a man find that erotic? The memory of his lovemaking, as varied as it was enthralling, filled her again with eager anticipation. She could hardly wait.

  But wait, she did. An hour passed, then another, and he did not return. Emily began to worry that he had gone out somewhere, perhaps to discover who had set the fire at Kendale House. What if that enemy he’d spoken of found him first and made a further attempt on his life?

  She paced and wrung her hands until she could stand it no longer. Guy might know where he had gone. Or she might even find Nick below with Guy and in no peril at all.

  The way she was dressed, she shouldn’t set foot out of the room, but she had to do something. He couldn’t expect her to remain here all day not knowing where he was or if he was in danger.

  Emily straightened the waistcoat and buttoned the top button of the shirt. In any case, no one was likely to see her besides Nick, Guy and his ancient butler.

  She left the room immediately before modesty changed her mind.

  The stairs felt cold beneath her stockinged feet. Without the traction of slippers, she had to step carefully so as not to slip and fall.

  As she neared the bottom step, she heard voices emanating from the morning room where Guy’s servant had asked Nick and her to wait the night before. The words were indistinct, but she could tell from the tone that one of the speakers was Nick. A huge wave of relief swept over her.

  The door stood half-open into the room. Emily wondered if she should go in, now that she was here, or return to the bedchamber and wait for him? If it was only Guy in there with him, she would join them, she decided. But on the off chance that someone else was present, it might not be prudent to let them see her got up the way she was.

  Even though this reminded her of the evening she had eavesdropped on Nick and Guy and caused her a moment’s guilt, she still tiptoed closer and peeked through the crack where the door was hinged.

  “This is neither the time nor the place for this, Munford,” Nick was saying.

  Emily stepped back and flattened herself against the wall of the foyer, unobserved. Zounds! It was Munford, that competitor Nick had mentioned, the one he thought had tried twice to kill him in India. And he had found Nick here!

  Careful not to make a sound, she positioned one eye against the crack and peeped again. Guy was in there and so was another fellow, both standing near Nick. Munford stood alone, in profile, a large and imposing man.

  “I’m glad I found you both in one place,” Munford declared. “I apprehended this inept dolt trailing me this morning,” he said, pointing angrily to the stranger Emily didn’t recognize, “and he admitted Duquesne hired him on your behalf, Kendale. You’ve been having me followed.”

  Nick nodded. “Because you’ve been asking about me since the day you docked. You threatened my life, Munford.”

  Munford took a step closer to Nick. “And you know why. Let’s get on with this, Kendale,” the man said, his voice bitter. “I don’t have any
more time to waste.”

  To Emily’s horror, he reached inside his coat.

  Without time to plan, Emily slammed the half-open door against the wall and launched herself inside the room with a shout to wake the dead. She landed against Munford with the full weight of her body, knocking him clean off his feet. His head clunked against the edge of the marble-topped table and he crumpled to the floor in a heap.

  “Emily?” Nick shouted, running to her.

  She scrambled to her feet, pointing. “Watch out! He has a gun!”

  Guy was already crouching to inspect the one lying unconscious. He slipped a hand just inside Munford’s coat, drew out a bulging envelope, then stood and held it out to Nick.

  The other fellow probed the lump on her victim’s head and felt his pulse. “He’s knocked out, that’s all.”

  Nick accepted the packet from Guy. “It appears to be money.”

  Emily bit her lips together and clung to Nick’s arm. “I—I thought he was about to shoot you.”

  They were all frowning at her.

  “He said to finish this,” she explained. “And I thought…” Her voice trailed off and she simply stared at them, wide-eyed, willing him to reassure her she had done the right thing.

  “What the devil are you wearing?” Nick asked, his narrowed gaze raking her as if she were standing there naked.

  She shrugged. “What does that matter? I could have come down in Duquesne’s nightshirt, you know! Why is Munford here if not to finish what he’d begun?”

  Guy spoke up. “He arrived prepared to purchase back the ship Nick won from him last year. An exorbitant amount was mentioned. I assume that packet contains it.”

  Emily looked from him to Nick and braced her hands on her hips. They weren’t going to make her the villain in this. “You said he almost murdered you on two occasions, Nick. What else was I to think when I saw the two of you standing there? When he said what he said?”