“Not a duel, necessarily. A means of protection. You escaped Pentonville. Your brother could as well. He’s just as clever as you are.”
Robert couldn’t deny that. In some ways, perhaps more so.
“Did you tell her the truth of your situation?” Weddington asked.
Robert grimaced, not proud of the answer he was forced to give. “No.”
“I doubt it would matter to her,” Weddington said.
How could it not? Robert wondered.
“Eleanor likes her,” Weddington said.
“She likes Eleanor.”
It wasn’t long after that Torie was finally ready for them to take their leave. Robert bid Weddington good-bye and climbed into the coach after Torie, sitting beside her. She gave him a shy smile. He took her hand. The coach began its journey along the road leading away from Drummond Manor. Robert held off as long as he could. Then he could hold off no longer.
Torie was beginning to recognize when unbridled desire was taking hold of her husband, but after last night he had no more reason to hold back, and so he didn’t.
His mouth was on hers, insistent, demanding, but not frightening. There was such goodness in him, such care. And such passion.
It began like a match held aloft, the flame just a flicker of light, but then it blazed into a conflagration, like a bonfire on a winter night that burned so brightly there was no holding it back. She wanted his kiss, his touch. She wanted everything.
He dragged her onto his lap so he could have easier access to her, holding her close, deepening the kiss, his hands making a mess of her hair. And she didn’t care.
He tossed her hat to the other seat, and she assumed the pin went with it, and thought of his reaction when he’d sat on it before. Only she didn’t laugh. She couldn’t laugh, because she barely had the breath in her to survive the onslaught of passion.
She wanted him, wanted him desperately.
She heard pins clinking as they hit the floor of the coach, then her hair was tumbling around her.
“Oh, God, Torie, I shouldn’t have begun what I can’t finish.” He was breathing harshly, his mouth burning along her throat as he popped buttons free.
“You can finish.”
“No, not here, not in a coach. I want you in a bed, beneath me. I want us completely naked. I want it all. But it will be sweet, sweet torture to wait.”
She so agreed. She was hot, and everywhere he touched blazed hotter.
“How much farther?” she asked, her voice raspy with desire.
“An hour, I think. No more. Perhaps a bit less.”
“Then let’s just torment each other until then.”
And he was exquisite at tormenting her. He peeled back her bodice, kissing each bit of flesh that became visible, touching, stroking, holding. When he lowered his head and closed his mouth over her breast, she nearly came off his lap.
She wanted him to stop, wanted him to continue, wanted him to find them a bed. Now! Right this instant.
She returned the favor, unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his chest, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He moaned her name, and his fingers tightened on her breasts. She could feel the hardness of him against her hip and she thought if she just hiked up her skirts, if she just twisted around, simply straddled him, that the intimate part of her that was screaming for attention could find it with the part of him that was demanding it.
It was instinctual, this wanting to come together. As though she would perish if they didn’t. And yet even as she considered all the gyrations that would be required to make it happen, she realized that he was right.
Not here in the coach, all twisted about, bouncing along.
The coach began to slow. He jerked away from her, glanced out the window.
“Thank God, we’re here. Let’s get you put back to rights.”
She’d just finished buttoning her bodice, he’d just finished buttoning his shirt, when the coach stopped and the footman opened the door. The man’s expression changed not one iota as he helped his disheveled master and mistress alight from the coach.
Torie’s hair was still undone, her hat on the seat, but she didn’t care. Robert reached down, lifted her into his arms, and headed toward the house. She buried her face against the warmth of his neck. “I can walk, you know.”
“I like carrying you.”
He hurried up the stairs, his steps sure. The door opened before he was there.
“It’s good to have you home, Your Grace,” Whitney said.
“Good to be home,” he replied, without stopping, heading for the sweeping staircase that would take them to the family wing. “Tell Mrs. Cuddleworthy the duchess and I shall eat in our chambers this evening, but until I ring we don’t wish to be disturbed.”
“Very good, Your Grace.”
“Robert, the servants are going to talk.”
“Let them.”
“Why do you always close your eyes when we make love?”
Lying atop her husband, Torie pressed her face to his chest so he wouldn’t see her embarrassment. “I don’t always.”
“Nearly always.”
“Don’t you close your eyes?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Hardly ever.”
Once they’d divested themselves of their clothing, neither had been in a mood to put anything back on. They’d been in his bedchamber all afternoon, all evening. They’d had dinner brought here and eaten in decadent nakedness.
“Why?” he asked again. “Why do you close yours?”
Raising her head, she dug her chin into his chest bone.
“Ow!” He slipped his hand beneath her chin to stop the pressure. “What did you do that for?”
“Because your question is too personal.”
“Too personal? How can anything between us be too personal after all that we’ve done this afternoon?”
She couldn’t deny that he made a rather compelling point. He was quite the adventurer. She didn’t think they’d yet made love in precisely the same position twice. He’d slipped pillows beneath her to raise her hips to alter the angle of his entry. Once they’d made love sitting in a chair. Once standing up.
He seemed insatiable, her husband.
Holding the ends of her hair, he tickled her nose. “Come on, Torie. Tell me why you close your eyes.”
She released a quick, impatient burst of breath. “Because it’s too personal to actually watch what we’re doing. I can tell what we’re doing without looking.”
“I like watching.”
“You’re perverted. I’ve married a pervert.”
“I’m not perverted. I’m interested. I’m curious. If I closed my eyes I wouldn’t be able to see the blush that creeps over you from your hairline down to your tiniest toe when rapture sweeps over you.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure it’s my blush that holds your interest.”
“I want you to watch next time.”
“Is there going to be a next time?”
He gave her a wicked grin, and she felt a nudge against her backside.
Returning his smile, she said, “Well, yes, I suppose there will be.”
“Watch this time.”
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. Just the thought of you watching, though…well, you can feel how it affects me.”
“I don’t think I can watch. Besides, my eyes aren’t always closed.”
“They are once I’m inside you.”
“How can you say that so casually?”
“How would you prefer I say it?”
“I’d prefer that you not.”
He reached down and patted her bottom. “Get up.”
“I thought we were going—”
“We will. I need to do something first.”
She rolled off him and pulled the sheet up to her breasts.
“No, you can’t have that,” he said. “I need it.”
He tugged the sheet free of her and began tying one corne
r to the top of the bedpost.
“What are you doing?” she asked, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them.
“You’ll see.” He tied another corner to the other post.
A wall of white was to her right by the time he came around, shoving a table in front of him, moving the bedside table forward, positioning lamps…
Then he stood, his feet spread, his hands on his hips, a look of keen satisfaction on his face. “That should work.”
She turned her attention to where he was looking and saw the shadowy silhouette of a woman sitting on the bed.
“Oh, no,” she said, releasing her legs and scrambling for the end of the bed.
He grabbed her ankle, stilling her before pulling her back to him. Grabbing the other ankle, spreading her legs, wrapping them around his hips, he lowered himself, pinning her in place. “I thought you liked shadow games.”
“I like watching what you do with your hands.”
A look of pure masculine triumph reshaped his features. “Oh, I shall definitely do something with my hands.”
“That’s not what I meant.” She sounded breathless, unable to believe that she was already so incredibly aroused.
Flattening his palm against her cheek, he urged her, “Look, Torie, it’s not so wicked.”
She followed his gaze, wishing she had the strength to resist, but her curiosity getting the better of her. And there they were: two shadows, a woman on her back, a man raised up above her.
“It looks like you’re inside me, but you’re not.”
“Noticed that I’m not inside you, did you?”
“It’s a little hard to miss when you are.”
He grinned. “Why can you tease me with words, seem so comfortable with the banter, but have no interest in watching?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked back at the shadows. “It seems rather boring, doesn’t it?”
She watched as the shadow above lowered itself, then she felt Robert nipping at the sensitive flesh below her ear.
“Still boring?” he asked in a low voice that caused her body to tighten.
She felt his tongue lapping at her skin.
“Still boring?”
“No,” she breathed, her eyes slowly closing.
“Don’t close your eyes. Just watch the shadows.”
Watch the shadows. Watch the shadows.
She watched as the man rose up on his knees, his shoulders back, his sword at the ready. She watched as the lady eased up slightly, ran her hands up the man’s thighs, up his stomach, up his chest, and down, down, laying claim to that which he offered.
The shadow quivered, the man’s head dropped back, and his throaty growl reverberated between them. He raised his fists, and she watched as the woman’s hands glided over him, cupping him and stroking him, some aspects clear, others blurred, shadows wavering, the lines indistinct.
She became lost in the shadow dance as the man reached for her arms, pulling her up as he fell back, tugging her forward until she was straddling his hips. She stretched out over him like a lazy cat about to lap up the cream. And she did lap at him, her tongue traveling over his bare skin, licking, tasting, relishing. Groaning low, he wrapped his hands around her arms, bringing her up until her breasts hovered above him.
Then he was doing to her what she’d done to him. His tongue taunting and teasing, circling her nipple while his mouth closed over her breast and his hand slid down between them, to stroke and drive her mad with desire.
She turned her gaze away from the shadows on the canvas and looked at her husband. His head was turned to the side, his gaze riveted by the dance of seduction unfolding. Watching him, watching them…
She felt pleasure coil so tightly…
He grabbed her hips, brought her up, brought her down…
She cried out, her release instantaneous, more intense than anything that had come before it, but hovering within reach…
Another.
She whimpered as he began pumping himself into her, controlling her movements with strong hands that bit into her hips.
Now she was the one throwing her head back, turning her head to the side, watching as she glided her own hands along her stomach, cupped her breasts, taunting him with her wickedness as she touched herself in the same manner that he often touched her. It was exhilarating to abandon her reserve, to express her desires with such freedom…
He released a feral growl, his back arching up, his hips making a final thrust even as he drove her down to meet him. Pleasure, intense beyond belief, shot through her, and once more she found herself crying out.
She watched the shadow lady grow limp and melt into her shadow lover.
“Now you can close your eyes,” he said with a satisfied chuckle, as his arms came around her, holding her close.
Turning her head, she smiled at the sated couple lying in shadows. Smiled before drifting off to sleep in contentment.
Chapter 19
The mornings that followed were filled with Robert secluding himself in the library or the study while Torie saw to the management of the house. The afternoons were filled with walks and rides, tours of the countryside, long heated kisses beneath the boughs of trees where they took a rest, picnics, and walks along the river.
The evenings consisted of a lovely dinner, reading afterward, her reading to him, because he so loved the sound of her voice. She’d never known any man to be so enthralled with a woman’s talking, as though he could never get enough.
The nights…they never seemed long enough. They made love, and slept, awoke to make love again. With each time that they came together, the fluidity of their lovemaking increased.
Torie came to know his body almost as well as she knew her own. And she knew beyond any doubt that he knew hers equally well. He knew how to touch her to create the wonderful sensations that spiraled through her. When to pull back and drive her crazy, when to push forward and grant her release.
He was quite simply remarkable.
My darling sister,
I have thought of you often in the days since I embarked on my wedding trip to my husband’s estate. Or I should say that I’ve thought of the conversation you had with Mother the morning of my wedding. Although I have been married only a month, I daresay that I shall never tire of the dish I’m being served.
I thought I knew so well the man I was to marry, and yet each day brings a new discovery and a deeper love. It’s been a marvelous revelation to realize that I shall never grow weary of being with this man. No matter that we stroll along the same path through the garden each evening before dinner, something always catches my attention to delight me. The rumble of his laughter, the timbre of his voice, the sight of his smile, the warmth in his eyes, the heat of his kiss.
Oh, dear sister, his kiss. It lasts forever and is over too quickly. I must confess that I disagree with Mother’s assessment that slow lovemaking is to be endured. Rather, I find it is to be relished.
I write to tell you this only because I wish to assuage your fears that a woman would find discontentment if she settles on only one man, for even though he is but one man, he has many moods and he is a constant mystery to be slowly unraveled.
I take joy in knowing that it will take me a lifetime
At the sound of gentle knock on the door, Torie stopped writing, glanced over her shoulder, and bid entry. The butler opened the door and stepped into the room.
“I apologize for disturbing you, Your Grace, but the duke wishes a moment of your time in the library.”
“He’s returned already? I wasn’t expecting him until nightfall.” She rose to her feet, wondering if he finished with his business at the village more quickly because he didn’t like being away from her any more than she liked his being away. “Tell him that I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
After he closed the door, Torie walked to the dresser, gazed in the mirror, and assessed her appearance. As he’d returned early,
she had little doubt that there was no need for her to take much time in preparing herself. She suspected he’d soon have her hair mussed and her gown pooled on the floor.
Strange that he’d asked to see her in the library, rather than coming straight here to spend time with her. She hoped all was well. A sudden sense of foreboding traveled through her, and she feared that perhaps something was amiss.
She hurried into the hallway and down the stairs. At the bottom of the stairs, she headed toward the library.
When the footman opened the door for her, she waltzed into the room and saw her husband standing at the window, staring out at the gardens. She didn’t recognize his clothing. It wasn’t what he’d been wearing that morning when he’d left. But she’d recognize him anywhere, the way he stood, the tilt of his head, the shape of his back.
She was surprised that he didn’t turn to face her, that he didn’t acknowledge her arrival.
“Whitney said you wished to see me.”
Still he didn’t turn. Fighting back her trepidation that something was wrong, she crossed the room, walking over thick rugs. Slipping her arms around his waist, she pressed her cheek to his back. “I missed you desperately.”
“Did you?” he murmured.
“How could you possibly doubt it? Didn’t you miss me?”
“More than you can possibly understand.”
He took hold of her hands, moving them away so he could face her. She took a step back, not certain why, only knowing that she felt an overwhelming urge to do so. Something was different. Something she couldn’t identify or explain. His eyes, she thought. There was something different in his eyes, something different in the way he looked at her. The fine hairs on the nape of her neck prickled.
She took another step back. “You’re not my husband.”
“Unfortunately, no, I’m not.”
She tried to smile, to laugh, to understand. “Oh, you were playing a prank, telling Whitney the duke was here, wishing to see me, but you’re John. You’ve come to surprise Robert. He’ll be so pleased. He was terribly disappointed that you weren’t able to make it over for our wedding. Still, I do wish you’d told us you were coming.”
A Matter of Temptation Page 21
