Frowning, in the faint light of the candle, he pawed through them, his brain seeking a way to turn these old vowels to his advantage. The bargain made by Charles with Winthrop might not have been common knowledge, but there were a few people who’d been aware of what had been planned the night Charles died. A sneer curved his lips, his teeth gleaming like a wolf’s in the candlelight. Charles had made a fatal mistake in thinking he’d be able to bleed him for more money and had died because he’d been a greedy bastard. As for Winthrop, his lordship had been a lecherous, old fool. A woman instead of money? Faugh!
But it wasn’t the money the vowels represented that interested him. It was how he could use them... .
On a bright and cool Saturday morning in November, Luc Joslyn took Gillian Dashwood as his wife. Everyone agreed that the bride looked lovely in a narrow gown of pale green embroidered muslin and the groom was most handsome garbed in a long-tailed dark blue coat and gray pantaloons. As planned, after the ceremony performed by Vicar Smythe, the entire wedding party removed to High Tower for a celebration breakfast.
The attendees of the dinner the previous night at Windmere were present, in addition to several other notables from the neighborhood. Mrs. Featherstone and three of her daughters fluttered about, Lord Broadfoot’s two sons, Miles and Harlan, and the family’s two eldest daughters had joined their parents for today’s festivities, and Mr. and Mrs. Simon Fulton, wealthy neighbors of Silas’s, and their son were amongst the first to offer congratulations. Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Dodd with their two strapping sons, as well as the widower, Lord Blackmore, whose lands bordered Silas on the east, helped swell the ranks of the guests. There were others to be sure, prompted as much by curiosity as goodwill, that helped fill the grand salon at High Tower to nearly overflowing.
Watching the chattering, smiling crowd, Silas felt a surge of gratification. There had been some fear that Canfield’s death would cast a pall over the entire wedding, but Canfield was known only by reputation by most in the neighborhood and few were touched by his death. There was the occasional murmur about what a tragedy the young man’s death had been, but for today it was shrugged aside and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.
His gaze moving from one person to another, Silas was aware that there were those who came only to gather gossip, but all in all he was pleased. He and the Joslyn family had done what they could to dilute the worst of the scandal broth at the sudden and unexpected wedding, and he was satisfied that, except for a few high sticklers, Luc and Gillian would be readily accepted into the ranks of the gentry. He smiled. It helped, he admitted, that Luc’s brother was Viscount Joslyn. Few would dare insult the half brother, legitimate or not, of the wealthiest and most powerful man in the neighborhood. Watching Cornelia Townsend holding court in one corner of the grand salon, his smile became a grin. Or offend Cornelia.
The morning sped by for Gillian, and all too soon, for her peace of mind, she was bundled into Luc’s carriage and with well wishes ringing in her ears, she and Luc were on their way to Ramstone. She was glad to escape from the strain of constantly smiling and trying to look as if she didn’t have a care in the world when she was filled with apprehension and uncertainty, but leaving ... She swallowed. Leaving High Tower meant she was alone with Luc for the first time since Sophy had discovered them in bed together in her bedroom.
From under her lashes, she studied him, this man she had just married, as he sprawled on the burgundy mohair cushions across from her. His eyes were downcast, as if he was contemplating the floor, and her gaze traveled over the sweep of black hair across his brow, the shadows beneath the elegantly sculpted bones of his cheeks, the hard jaw, and lingered on the soft, sensual curve of his full bottom lip. Heat blossomed low in her body and her nipples swelled as she remembered the feel of that warm mouth on hers, on her breasts, her body... .
Appalled at her wanton thoughts, she tore her gaze away and stared unseeing out at the passing countryside for several minutes. The erotic images faded and with them her body’s uninhibited response, but just as she congratulated herself on her control, her eyes strayed again to him. He looked so comfortable, so at ease sitting there, damn him! His broad shoulders encased in the dark blue jacket rested lightly against the back of the coach seat, and his long legs were stretched out in the space between them, the gray pantaloons clinging to muscular thighs and calves. With every bounce and lurch of the carriage as it bumped over the rough country road, his body swayed easily, bonelessly. Clearly, he had not a care in the world.
It was unfair, she thought resentfully, that he was as relaxed as a big tomcat dozing in the sun while she was as tense as a vixen chased to earth by a pack of hounds. Of course, he hadn’t just been torn from his home. His life wasn’t now in the hands of a stranger. A stranger, she reflected, who would come to her bed tonight and do with her as he willed. A flush stained her cheeks when she admitted with a tiny thrill of anticipation that welcoming Luc to her bed wasn’t going to be a chore. Feeling the budding warmth and dampness between her legs, she forced herself to look out the window of the coach again.
I’m married to a man I love, but one who doesn’t love me, she brooded. I don’t want to love him, and I can see nothing but misery being married to a man who doesn’t love me. She suppressed a sigh. Perhaps it wouldn’t be terrible, and it was certainly better than finding herself shackled to a man who revolted her—someone like Canfield or Stanton. She shuddered. Oh yes, marriage to Luc would not be a chore at all when compared to some other men she could name. Her practical side took over. My husband may not love me, but I’ll take my pleasure where I can, she told herself firmly, in my home and in the life I’ll make for myself. I’ll still have dear Uncle Silas, Sophy and Stanley nearby. And if my uncle is right, even if Luc is a gambler, my life won’t be like it was with Charles. I will make myself happy even if I have to do it all by myself.
Luc wasn’t as relaxed as he looked, and Gillian would have been surprised to learn that only by concentrating fiercely on the floor of the carriage was he able to keep his hands off of her. At the first sight of her coming down the aisle this morning, Luc had felt as if the world had tilted, and feelings, emotions he’d never experienced before ripped through him. She looked so perfect, so lovely in her pale green gown that he wondered that he hadn’t realized before that he was in love with her. He loved women, but he was in love with Gillian. His mouth went dry at the knowledge that somehow, inexplicably this sprite with the cloud of dark hair and golden-brown eyes held his heart, his happiness in her slim, soft hands.
He’d been knocked flat by that discovery and he’d wandered through the rest of the morning in a fog. It was only as he helped her into the carriage for the ride to Ramstone that the fog vanished. The touch of her hand in his, the knowledge that she was his wife and the awareness that they were all alone when the carriage doors had shut behind them jolted his thoughts in another direction. His blood ran hot in his veins, and a certain part of his anatomy made its presence uncomfortably felt. It took all his willpower not to reach for her, drag her into his arms and taste again that sweet, seductive mouth of hers. He tried to think of a safe topic of conversation, but his usually agile brain was curiously blank, except for thoughts of how swiftly he could have those skirts of hers lifted and himself buried in her silken heat.
When the carriage swung down the lane that led to Ramstone, Luc silently breathed a sigh of relief. At least, he thought, the temptation to ravage her would be behind him for the next several moments.
As relieved as Luc, if for slightly different reasons, Gillian leaned forward in her seat, eager to see Ramstone Manor again. As the coach pulled to a stop in front of the building with its twin gables divided by the plaster wing, her breath caught. It seemed incredible that less than a fortnight ago she’d laid eyes on Ramstone for the first time and now it was her home.
With her hand resting nervously on Luc’s arm, she walked up the brick walkway to the house. Inside it was as she remembered, but tod
ay they were greeted not by Bertram Hinton, but a small, white-haired man in butler’s garb who introduced himself as Bissell; beyond him stood other servants. Fortunately, Luc didn’t have a huge staff and the introductions went swiftly.
Her own dear Nan Burton and Nan’s sons were already here, and seeing Nan’s welcoming face amongst the strangers, some of Gillian’s anxiety fled. The house didn’t feel quite so alien knowing that Nan and her two sons were nearby.
Shown into her bedroom several minutes later by Luc, Gillian’s anxiety returned, her gaze locked on the bed that comprised, other than a slightly faded blue brocade chair, a chest of drawers with a mirror above and a night table, the furnishings of the room. Dragging her eyes away from the bed, she spied some of her personal things arranged on top of the chest of drawers and saw that several of her gowns were hanging on a series of hooks on one wall and that a trunk she recognized as hers had been placed at the foot of the bed. A small woolen rug in shades of cream and blue lay upon the floor, and while the bed had been made, there were no hangings, leaving the bed looking rather lonely and naked. She winced. Why did the word naked have to leap to mind at this very moment?
Standing beside her, Luc muttered, “I know it isn’t what you are used to, but there wasn’t time to select and buy more furnishings.” He smiled crookedly. “For the time being, you’ll have to make do with what was left by the previous owner in the house. I’m sure that you’ll want to decorate and add items that are to your own taste.” He cleared his throat. “In fact, when I was in London I obtained furniture and fabric catalogs and brought them back with me. Within reason, you have carte blanche. I’ve been told that once ordered, especially items in stock, they could be delivered within a week or so.” He thought a moment, then added, “It’s possible that we could go to London for you to make your selections.”
The prospect of a trip to London did not excite her. There were few members of the ton in the city this time of year, but she shrank from the thought of facing a new barrage of gossip her sudden marriage would cause ... and the revival of all the old scandal. Luc watched her with a raised brow and just before the silence became uncomfortable, she muttered, “I’m sure I’ll find everything I need in the catalogs you’ve obtained.” More for something to say than anything else, she asked, “Are all the rooms like this?”
Luc laughed. “No, most are completely empty.”
“With an entire house of this size to furnish, if I am to stay ‘within reason’ you shall have to give me a budget.”
He named a sum that made her eyes go round. Seeing the expression on her face, he disclosed, “I am not a poor man, and unless you intend to have every chair and table gilded and studded with pearls you should be able to buy what you want with that amount.” And bored with the topic of furnishings, the scent of her perfume teasing his nostrils, the warmth of her body and the proximity of a bed all conspiring against him, Luc added testily, “Allow me to show you the rest of the suite.” Almost dragging Gillian, he whisked her into the sitting room that divided her own bedroom from his. Giving her barely a chance to glance around at the skeleton furnishings, he pointed to a doorway and said, “My room is over there and since it is the twin of yours, there is no need for you to see it now.” He couldn’t help it. His gaze dropped to her lips and his voice suddenly husky, he said, “You’ll see it soon enough. Often.”
Her throat dry, her heart thumping, her eyes dropped from his dark face and she babbled, “Oh yes, I’m sure that I will enjoy that.”
He knew very well that wasn’t what she meant to say, but her words sent a jangle of lust shooting through him and the urge to soothe it with her soft, little body was overpowering. He wasn’t, he reminded himself savagely, an animal. He was a gentleman. He could wait. He took a deep breath, forcing his unruly body into submission. Somehow he managed not to pick her up and carry her into that very room and appease the beast raging within him. “Very good,” he managed, “And now if you will excuse me, I’ll send your maid to you and allow you some privacy.” Leaving her to stare openmouthed after him, he bolted from the room. It was either that, he told himself grimly, or prove that she’d married a rutting boar.
Nan was full of chatter as she helped Gillian out of her cherry-red pelisse and hung it on one of the hooks. “Oh, Madame, isn’t this just the loveliest house? And once you furnish it, why, my heavens, it’ll be a show place, won’t it? My boys are over the moon with our little suite of rooms. They’ve been down at the stables already and have made friends with a couple of the boys that work there. Now, would you like to change clothes or do you want to wait until later?”
Deciding to change out of her wedding finery, once she was garbed in a simple gown of lilac muslin, a delicate woolen shawl woven in shades of cream, lavender and green draped around her shoulders against the November chill, she was ready to go downstairs. Precisely what she was going to do once she reached the bottom of the stairs eluded her. Luc had not given her any clue about his plans for the rest of the day or any direction at all. Did she talk to the cook about an evening meal? Or ask Bissell to give her an extended tour of the house?
Walking down the staircase, resentment bubbled through her. It is our wedding day, she thought. Surely, he doesn’t expect me to treat it like any other day. By the time she reached the front foyer, resentment had turned to temper and there was a sparkle in her eye and a nice sweep of pink to her cheeks that could have been mistaken for high spirits, but those who knew her well would not have made that mistake.
Bissell walked into the foyer as she reached the bottom step. “Ah, Madame. I was just coming in search of you. The master asks that you join him in his study at your convenience. Allow me to escort you.”
Mollified by the news that Luc hadn’t just abandoned her to her own devices, Gillian smiled and said, “Thank you, I’d appreciate that.”
Luc’s study was across the wide hallway from the pleasant room where she and her family had been served refreshments on her previous visit. Bissell tapped on the door and at Luc’s voice, opened it and with a smile ushered her into the room.
It was a large room in which she found herself. Against the far wall, flanked by tall windows, was a brick fireplace with a wide oak mantel, and a brace of windows overlooked the garden at the rear of the house. Faded maroon drapes hung at the windows; a gray and black wool carpet lay on the floor; an oak desk and a pair of leather chairs comprised the furnishings. One chair was behind the desk, the other in front of the fireplace where a fire burned.
At her entrance, Luc stood up from behind the desk. He’d discarded his jacket and his skin looked very dark against the white of his linen shirt. Luc dismissed Bissell and the butler departed, closing the door behind him. Uncertainly, bride and groom faced each other.
Staring at her, Luc’s heart quickened. Mon Dieu! She was lovely ... and his. Nervous as he had never been in his life, feeling as if his cravat was strangling him, Luc scrambled for something to say, but his brain was blank. Where, he wondered unhappily, had his reputed ready charm disappeared? He was as tongue-tied as a youth. All he wanted, he realized, was to take her into his arms and lose himself in her soft sweetness.
Gillian was feeling as bemused as Luc. This tall, devastatingly attractive man was now her husband, she had known his intimate touch, felt the power of that big body, yet what did she really know of him? That he was a gambler. That her uncle approved of him. And that he moved her as no other man ever had. It wasn’t much upon which to build a life, but it was what fate and her own foolish desire for him had given her.
Luc cleared his throat. “Ah, did your uncle explain to you about the settlements?”
Walking nearer the desk, she nodded. “Yes, he did that last night when we returned from Windmere.”
“And the arrangements are satisfactory?” Silently he cursed himself. The last thing he wanted to talk about was money. What he wanted was to taste that tempting mouth again and to hear her soft cries of pleasure when she reached her peak
. A shudder racked him at the memory of her naked body quaking under the driving force of his, and desire coiled tight and painful in his loins.
Gillian nodded again. “Yes.”
Wrenching his thoughts away from naked twisting bodies, Luc muttered, “Bon. Bon.” He tugged at his cravat, destroying the precise folds. “Uh, would you like a tour of the house? The last time you were here you barely had a glimpse of it.”
She had reached the desk. With only the desk between them, she swore she could feel the warmth of his body, swore she could smell his scent and deep within her heat flared. Her fingers absently trailing over the smooth polished surface, her eyes on his hard mouth, she murmured, “If that is what you want me to do.”
His eyes dropped to her fingers caressing the surface of the desk and imagining them on his body, his chest, his belly ... he broke. Muttering a curse under his breath, he was around the desk in a flash and jerked her into his arms. “No,” he half-snarled, “that isn’t what I want you to do. What I want,” he breathed against her lips, “is your mouth on mine and your body mated with mine.”
His lips came down hard on hers, his hunger wild. He kissed her again and again, each kiss deeper, more intimate than the one before. Her body was molded against his, her arms around his neck, and her lips were warm and generous under his, her tongue meeting, tangling with his.
Her hands slipped to his chest and her fingers parted his shirt, finding the hard wall of muscle beneath the fabric. She flexed her fingers against the warm flesh and he groaned against her lips; his tongue captured hers, pulling it into his mouth.
Feverish with desire, shaking with it, Luc found her breast with one hand and his fingers closed over it. Through her garment he caressed the nipple that pressed against his seeking fingers and the craving to taste it, to curl his tongue around that sweet nubbin of flesh was overbearing. His lips slid down her neck, his hands making short work of the bodice of her gown. When she was bare to the waist, he swung her around and sat her on the desk.
Desire Becomes Her Page 29
