It took a Herculean effort to stop. They gazed at each other, breathing heavily. Half-dazed, he led her over to the freshly made bed, over which he had spread a fresh bathing sheet, indicating that she lie crossways on her tummy, helping her to remove the tunic when she did.
‘Kate...’ He whispered her name simply for the sake of saying it.
There was no one like her—this combination of trust and innocence and experience. She wanted him, she made no attempt to hide that, and she trusted him completely to please her and to do her no harm.
He longed to please her. It almost stopped him in his tracks, the strength of his longing, and set alarm bells clanging. But he stilled them. Because he didn’t want to listen, and because he had already reassured himself that it was nothing...nothing more than the sum total of their current circumstances.
Their circumstances were extraordinary, and soon they would change. But he didn’t want to think of the time when it would be over. All he was interested in right now was Kate. Pleasing Kate. Who looked so delightful, spread half-naked on his bed. With the curve of her spine, the indent of her waist, the swell of her bottom barely concealed in his own silk trousers.
He picked up the glass vial of oil and warmed it between his hands. He swept the fall of her hair away, leaned over, and began the massage, working along her shoulders first, which would be painful from the poses he’d led her through. His own tunic was an unnecessary barrier. He cast it off, then spread her legs very slightly so he could lean closer, his bare chest brushing her back. Her hands were stretched up, under his pillow. He kissed the nape of her neck. She whimpered.
He put more oil on his hands and began to work down the knots of her spine, then over her sides, up to the flattened curve of her breasts, down, shaping the indent of her waist, feeling the softness of her belly, which she tensed at his touch.
The trousers were held in place by a cord. He undid it.
‘Kate?’
There was a second’s hesitation, and then a muffled ‘yes’. He eased the trousers down, pulling her towards him so that he now stood between her legs, his breath coming fast as he feasted his eyes on her bottom, dimpled, begging for his touch. The soft, yielding flesh set him on fire. The responsive arch of her back when he stroked her made his member throb. He worked the oil into the creases at the tops of her legs, working down one thigh to her calf, her ankle, her foot, then back up the other leg.
She was moving restlessly on the bed. He would slide so easily into her, and she would welcome the release of their bodies finally uniting, but this was Kate and he wanted to give her more.
Easing her onto her back, he was once again almost overset by the sight of her, eyes dark with passion, her nipples hard nubs, the curls between her legs so much darker than her blonde hair, revealing the hot, wet, inviting centre of her. He used the bath sheet to pull her towards him, then leaned over to kiss her, his mouth on her mouth, his chest brushing her breasts, the aching hardness between his legs sheathed only in his trousers, pressing against the hot dampness between hers.
She wrapped her arms around him, tilted instinctively against him, but he gently disentangled himself to kiss his way down her body until his mouth covered her sex.
‘Daniel!’
He licked her, aroused even more, if that was possible, by the scent of her and the taste of her and the heat of her.
‘Daniel...’ she said, but now it was a plea, and he had reached the limits of his own self-control.
Using his tongue and his hands, relishing every moment, he was urgent, in an agony of needing, wanting, lost in a way he never had been, in the need to be inside her.
She came quickly, crying out, panting his name, bucking under him, then pushing herself up on the bed to wrap her arms around his neck, kissing him feverishly with abandon.
‘Hurry,’ she said, and he didn’t give a damn whether she knew what she was asking or not.
Yanking at the cord which tied his trousers, kicking them away, he was panting and groaning like a wild beast as his agonisingly engorged shaft brushed the damp heat between her legs.
‘Daniel...’ Kate said, twining her legs around his waist.
If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she knew precisely what she was doing, but he did know better, and he found it in him—just—to stop himself from thrusting hard and deep.
‘Kate?’
‘Don’t stop.’
‘No. Yes. Kate, are you sure?’
She laughed, pulling his face towards her for a deep, slow kiss. ‘What do you think?’
He stopped thinking. He pushed into her and he was lost. Pushing higher, he let his eyes clash with Kate’s and their gazes held. It was written clear on her face, every move he made, and when he reached the top and held her, and she tightened around him, he knew that his feelings for her were written on his face, and he didn’t give a damn about anything except this perfect, silent communion of two people truly becoming one.
He began to move and she followed him, so that they quickly found a rhythm, his thrusts and her tightening matched by their breaths, becoming frantic as he thrust harder, faster, their gazes fixed on each other, their bodies locked, until she cried out, a warning he only just heeded, pulling himself free of her just in time before his own climax took him, shaking him to the core, racking him with pleasure.
Clinging to her, heedless of anything save the need not to let her go, he was soothed by her hand on the back of his head, by her saying his name, by the soft kisses she pressed to his mouth, by the feeling, when it was over, that the world had been turned inside out.
* * *
For long, timeless moments afterwards Kate was utterly lost in the pleasure of what had just occurred. Nothing had prepared her for this feeling that she was floating blissfully, that she was alone in a world that contained just herself and Daniel.
He rolled over onto the bed, pulling her with him, and they lay completely naked in broad daylight. Her head was on his shoulder, their legs were tangled together, her hand was flat on the expanse of his chest. The hair was rough, but his skin was smooth. She could feel his heartbeat slowing, feel her own doing the same. In the shaft of sunlight coming through the open window she could see dust motes dancing. She felt alive, her blood zinging in her veins as if she could do another hour of yoga and hold every pose. She was energised and yet completely at peace. This was what had been missing in her life.
At the exact moment this ominous thought made her heart skip a beat Daniel sat up. ‘This was a mistake.’
‘What?’ Kate pushed herself upright.
Daniel was already off the bed, grabbing his crimson dressing gown and throwing it at her. ‘Put that on.’ Turning away from her, he pulled on his own tunic and trousers.
Bewildered, every bit as much by the change in him as by the clamouring of her own feelings and the warning bells in her head, Kate wrestled with the folds of fabric, stumbling from the bed and pulling the dressing gown around her as Daniel turned away.
‘Why are you being like this? Are you saying you regret what happened?’
‘I don’t know what we were thinking, behaving like a couple of love-struck newlyweds,’ he snapped. ‘No! Kate, I didn’t mean that. I’m so sorry.’
Tears smarted in her eyes, but when he made to touch her she pushed him away. He immediately took a step back.
‘You felt it too,’ he said bleakly.
‘I don’t know. Yes, if you mean that we were—as if I had been waiting for you all my life, I suppose—isn’t it always like that?’
‘No.’
‘What happened, Daniel? Could it be that we have not—I mean because I have never made love and you cannot have made love for a long time—could it be that?’
‘It’s what I thought at first.’
‘It felt perfectly natural...as if we were made for each other, Daniel.�
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‘Don’t!’ He paced over to the window, leaning his shoulders against the shutters. ‘Perhaps it’s a bit like the effect of yoga. Our minds and our bodies are attuned to each other. We’ve spent a great deal of time in each other’s company, almost exclusively in each other’s company, and we have been through a—a traumatic experience. I’ve had a close brush with mortality and you witnessed it. That combination would certainly explain the strength of our feelings. But it can’t be allowed to happen again.’
He made no pretence of not having felt something profound, Kate noted bleakly. If he had pretended, would it have been worse or better? She didn’t want this to be her one and only experience of real lovemaking, but her instinct told her that it would be a huge mistake to make love to Daniel again.
‘Do you agree, Kate?’
She did, though she wasn’t entirely convinced by his explanation, and it irked her, his determination to deny feeling anything for anyone.
‘You don’t think that it might be a simple case of us having inadvertently fallen in love? Fiction becoming truth?’
She had the small satisfaction of his looking as if she had slapped him. But only for a second.
‘This is not a time for jokes. For a start, a person doesn’t just fall in love without realising it.’
His dismissive tone served to rile her. ‘I don’t believe it’s something one can make a conscious decision about, Daniel.’
‘One can, however, make a conscious decision not to fall in love. Ever.’
‘Or not to love at all. Ever. As you have.’
He flinched, but did not look away. ‘As I have. And you know why.’
The fight went out of her. She shivered, unable to believe that only a few moments ago she had been in the throes of ecstasy. She would be a complete fool to allow any feelings she had for this cold-hearted man to rule her—and she wasn’t even sure what those feelings were. She had her whole life before her, and it was entirely hers to do with as she saw fit. She was not going to spend it pining for a man who refused to give a damn about anything. Save his work.
‘We have just over two months to get through,’ Kate said, ‘and, thanks to you and Sir Marcus, we have a party to host and a role as the honeymooning Lord and Lady Elmswood to play out. Perhaps we should have our quarrel sooner rather than later.’
‘Don’t be like that, Kate.’
‘What would you prefer me to be like, Daniel? I’m not like you. I can’t just close the door on one life because it’s served its purpose and walk away. I’m not playing a part.’
‘I was not acting when we—You can’t imagine that was acting?’
‘No, I don’t. I think it was one of the rare occasions when you were yourself. But it’s over now, isn’t it? We don’t want any feelings that Daniel or Kate might have to get in the way of your marvellous career and your wonderful other life.’
‘This isn’t worthy of you.’
‘No, it’s not. But I’ve never been in this situation, so you’ll have to bear with me.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Once again he moved towards her, but he took only one step. She had no need to ward him off. ‘We both need some time to restore our equilibrium.’
‘If by that you mean we both need time alone to reflect, then I agree. I’ll see you later.’
Kate unlocked the door and made her way hurriedly to her own room. Only when she threw herself on the bed and caught herself listening did she realise she was waiting, hoping for him to come after her.
She rolled over, pulling the pillow over her head, and burst into tears.
* * *
In the library, later that day, Daniel could not concentrate on any of the books he had picked out to read. Dammit, why had he not foreseen this eventuality? But why should he have? It had never happened before.
Because he’d never met anyone like Kate before.
Distracted, he fell into a reverie, replaying every moment of their lovemaking that morning. It was the way she looked at him, looked right at him, as if she saw something no one else ever had. That was the worst thing. And also the best thing.
‘Dammit!’
His instinct was to run, but he couldn’t run. He was trapped here until Sir Marcus released him. And he didn’t want to go—not yet. Somehow, without realising, he had started counting on having three full months with Kate, and he still wanted every day of them. Though at the same time he wanted to close the door on what had happened, forget about Elmswood, make a fresh start.
Without Kate? Without ever seeing Kate again?
The thought actually made him feel physically sick.
Decisive action—that was what was required. He would write to his lawyer, find out who, if he died today, would inherit all Kate’s hard work, and then make sure that they did not. That ought to make him feel better, but it didn’t.
Pacing the room, he stubbed his toe on the library steps. His own fault for not folding them up. After Kate had moved them here from the morning room he’d found them neatly folded every morning, for the first two or three mornings. Just to be contrary, if not downright petty, he’d made a point of unfolding them. So she’d stopped folding them away. Now she had inadvertently made her point. He’d tell her so. She’d appreciate that.
No, perhaps not.
He tried to picture Kate in a half-made gown, standing patiently on the top step while her gown was pinned, though he couldn’t picture the niece doing the pinning. Eloise? She was the dressmaker.
They all had red hair, Gillian’s girls, and according to Kate they were beautiful. As their mother had been.
He had not thought of Gillian in years—until he had become imprisoned here. She had already effectively been dead to him when news of her drowning had reached him. Now, once again, despite his best efforts, he was being dragged back into the past, to the life he had walked away from, and to the person he was determined he’d never be again.
Exasperated, Daniel pulled the steps over to the corner bookshelf. There was a book somewhere on the top shelf, he dimly recalled, about Ancient Egypt. It might inspire him to invent some artefacts for his explorer alter ego to boast about at the garden party they had not yet arranged. It was a folio edition, so it must be one of those lying in a stack on their sides.
He ran his finger down the spines. The Egyptian book was at the bottom. He tried to pull it out, but the other books came with it and went crashing to the floor. Instinctively, he moved, almost overbalancing, clutching just in time at the shelf.
And then he remembered it happening before—just like this. Save that he had fallen that time, tumbling to the floor along with the books. He could see his much younger self right there on the floor, laughing despite the jarring thud of his landing. Leo was there, laughing too, dusting him down. And then the door opened and his father came in.
Daniel frowned over at the door, but he couldn’t remember what had happened next. Picking up the volumes, he set the Egyptian book down on a table and returned the rest to the top shelf.
It was nothing more than a stray memory, triggered by the act of retrieving a book, but it had decided him. What happened today had been a warning. No matter how he tried to disguise it, attribute it to compatibility or blame it on his brush with mortality, his feelings for Kate already ran too deep—and, even worse than that, he knew she felt the same for him.
No wonder his prosaic explanation had hurt her. A person could choose not to fall in love, he’d said, and he believed that. They were not in love, the pair of them—not yet. And he had to ensure they didn’t tumble over the precipice.
A brief trip to the past would cure him of any inclination to do that. It would be painful, but it would be well worth it.
Chapter Eight
It was late afternoon when Kate returned from the Estate Office, where she had singularly failed to distract herself with work and had spent mos
t of the afternoon gazing into space, alternately reliving that morning’s encounter and trying to imagine how she and Daniel were going to navigate the next two months.
En route to her bedchamber, to freshen up, she reached the top of the stairs—and gave a squeal of surprise when Daniel appeared at the door of the master suite.
‘Kate. I’ve been waiting for you. Will you come in? I’d like to talk to you.’
‘What about?’
‘Myself,’ he said, drawing from her a wry look.
She allowed him to usher her in, then made for the window seat, which stretched across the embrasure of the three central windows, where he joined her, though he did not sit down.
‘I’d forgotten how much better the view is from up here,’ he said. ‘You can see into the kitchen garden and the rose garden as well as down to the lake.’
‘It’s because it’s built out above the drawing room, while the rooms on either side are set slightly back.’
‘I know.’
‘Yes, of course you do.’
‘You’re wondering what I’m doing here.’
‘I can only presume you have finally decided to view your sister’s portrait. Is it a good likeness?’
She waited for him to shrug, but instead he sat down beside her. He was wearing a fresh tunic and trousers in black silk.
‘It has captured her very well,’ he said. ‘It used to hang in my father’s study. After Gillian ran off it vanished. I assumed he’d destroyed it. Are the girls very like her?’
‘Phoebe is her image. Estelle’s beauty is even more striking, if that is possible, though she’d hate me saying so. And Eloise is a...a slightly muted version—though that doesn’t mean she is not extremely beautiful. But it can’t be denied that when she is beside the twins, it is easy to overlook her.’
The Inconvenient Elmswood Marriage (Penniless Brides 0f Convenience Book 4) Page 14
