“I’m sorry,” she blurted out, telling herself she could bear it if he turned away. She’d learned she could bear almost anything. But she didn’t believe it. If Matthew rebuffed her, it would hurt more than all of Josiah’s unsubtle efforts to belittle her. She sprawled across Matthew’s chest, her head resting on his soft linen shirt just below his collarbone.
“I’ve howled like a lost dog upon occasion,” he said in what she recognized was a deliberately light tone. “Why, your few pathetic tears hardly justify the name.”
What a brave, good man he was. Although how he’d retained either bravery or goodness through the hell he’d endured, she couldn’t imagine. Desire lurched to life again. The chest beneath her hands was broad and powerful. Under her ear, his heart beat steadily. If she shifted the palms that lay flattened on his crushed shirt the slightest inch, she’d touch bare skin. Although she wanted to stay close to him more than she wanted air to breathe, she tried to pull away.
Instead of releasing her, his grip firmed. “Don’t go.”
She heard the aching need in the soft words. An aching need that mirrored her own. Without speaking, she subsided against him.
Silence heaving with all they felt but could not say weighted the air.
Dear heaven, they couldn’t go on like this. Thwarted desire would end in destroying them both.
Eventually, he slept while Grace stared dry-eyed into the darkness.
Her harum-scarum past paraded through her mind like a pageant. Memories of the pampered girl, the unhappy wife, the destitute widow. Cruel memories of a father consigning his daughter to perdition with words that stabbed her soul. Words she’d sworn would never become truth. More recent memories of a madman who frightened her, then saved her, then carried her to heaven with kisses.
Through the last unhappy years, honor alone had sustained her. She was about to relinquish that precious honor. And strangely, she felt not an ounce of regret.
Long dark hours passed while she said farewell to the woman she’d always been. And embraced the woman she was about to become.
Tomorrow night…
Chapter 14
Giddy with a heady mixture of excitement and apprehension, Grace waited in the bedroom for Matthew. Downstairs, she’d deliberately kept the conversation neutral, as it had stayed neutral most of the day.
It was late, nearly midnight, and everything was quiet. She’d abandoned him to his port while she dashed upstairs in a lather of nerves. And desire. Desire that swung her wayward heart into a drunken, swaying waltz that played in urgent triple time.
I want him. I want him. I want him.
Anticipation fizzed in her veins like fireworks. A deep breath. Another.
She stood leaning brazenly against the base of the bed so he’d see her the instant he came in. She wore the most beautiful—and most risqué—of the nightgowns his uncle had ordered. A sheer batiste sheath embroidered with a scatter of tiny silver stars.
The garment could almost look virginal, if one ignored its transparency. Or the way it dipped over the unconstrained jut of her breasts. Or that only four tapes held it together, two on the shoulders and two at the sides. A couple of well-judged flicks from a man’s fingers and the garment would crumple to the floor.
At last, she heard Matthew leave the salon, cross the hall to the stairs. She listened to each reluctant footstep as his booted feet mounted the steps. He paused on the top landing, striving for control.
How was she so sure what he felt?
Because she’d fought the same battle.
Tonight she yielded.
And gloried in defeat. This outcome had been destined from the moment she’d first looked into his enigmatic eyes.
He waited outside a long time. Finally, he sighed. The sound’s sadness added a rich minor note to the lilting music in her heart. She heard him turn toward the bedroom.
One step. Two.
He appeared in the doorway. She watched him absorb the scene with one flicker of those extraordinary eyes.
Bright candles on shelf and chest and windowsill.
Bedclothes folded down so only the sheet awaited. White. Pristine. Provocative.
Beckoning.
The air was heavy with sensual jasmine perfume. She’d used it on her pulse points and anointed the bed linen with its evocative fragrance.
His eyes widened as they lit on her. She watched his long fingers curl at his sides as if he stopped himself reaching out. It was the reaction she’d prayed for. Although whether she begged help from God or the Devil, she couldn’t have said.
“What are you doing, Grace?” he asked hoarsely. He didn’t cross the threshold. His gaze darkened with accusation—and unwilling hunger. A tiny muscle beat an erratic tattoo in his cheek.
“I’m seducing you,” she said with deliberate steadiness.
His face settled into rigid lines. His face wasn’t all that was rigid. He’d hardened the moment he saw her. The loose fawn trousers clearly revealed his arousal pressing against the buttoned frontfall.
She shook her freshly washed hair away from her face. Her hair flowed around her, brushing warm and silky across bare skin. It gave off a sweet tinge of wood smoke, lingering from when she’d dried it in front of the fire. Never before had she taken her hair down for a man. The effect was amazingly erotic, oddly liberating.
A smile curved lips supple with red salve. She’d never worn paint before either. Another freedom.
“I told you this is impossible.” His face was ashen and he looked lost, bewildered, unhappy. “Why didn’t you say something at dinner?”
“Because you’d try and talk me out of it.” She burst into speech before her courage failed. “Your uncle will think he’s won when he learns you share my bed. Monks and Filey will believe I’ve taken the harlot’s path. I’ll have no reputation to salvage after this.” She swallowed, afraid of what awaited, afraid of what she threatened to become. “The world believes me your mistress. What benefit to us if it isn’t so?”
“You and I will know the truth.”
Her smile faded as she read the despair underlying his hostility. “Lord Sheene…”
“Christ, Grace. My name is Matthew. I’m lord of nothing in this hellhole. Least of all myself.”
He turned and leaned his forehead on the hand he fisted against the door.
“Matthew,” she said softly and noticed how the sound of his name on her lips leached tension from his tall form. Deep within, a coil of nerves loosened, turned liquid.
She took a shaky breath. She’d hoped that the setting and her patent availability would send caution flying. That he’d take one look and carry her away on a tide of passion.
She should have known better. He was so strong. He’d had to be to survive the last eleven years.
“Matthew,” she said again, purely for the pleasure of hearing it. She linked her nervous hands in front of her and struggled to dredge up the right words. “This estate is a world unto itself. You may never have the chance to bed another woman.”
No, that was wrong. She knew it even before his head whipped up and he blasted her with a ferocious golden glare. Yet again the captive, doomed hawk teased at the fringes of her mind. The haunting, tragic image bolstered her wavering determination.
“You do this out of pity?” he asked sharply.
Composure became more difficult every second. She repressed the urge to scramble to the armoire for a robe to cover her all-but-nudity. Straightening her shoulders, she forced herself to continue calmly. “Not pity.” Then the greatest risk of all. “I want you. I think you want me.”
His hunted expression didn’t lighten. “Yes, I want you. That doesn’t make this right.”
“Why?”
His jaw clenched. “This is cruel, Grace. And unworthy of you. Stop this spiteful game. I will not fall in with my uncle’s plans, whatever my own selfish cravings. I swore you’d suffer no harm. Making you my whore means I’m no better than my jailers.”
His a
ttention fixed over her head as though he couldn’t trust himself to look at her. She had no such scruples. Her eyes devoured him from the crown of his gleaming black head, down his lean, strong body, to his long feet.
Desperation frayed her tone. “I may never escape. Monks or Filey could kill me tomorrow. I’ve always been a virtuous woman. I went to my husband a virgin. But my life outside ended when those thugs drugged me.” Never had she spoken so frankly. Enough of her old self lingered for hot color to flood her face.
He stared at her now, a troubled light in his beautiful eyes. “What if there’s a child?” He sounded almost angry.
“My womb hasn’t quickened before.”
“Your husband was an old man.”
“In nine years of marriage, I never conceived.”
“We gamble on the future of an innocent.”
She clutched her hands together so tightly that they ached. “Every moment here is a gamble.” Then in a voice that shook with urgency, “Joy would be your greatest revenge on Lord John. I believe…I believe we could find joy together.”
“Joy is a stranger here,” he said bleakly.
“It doesn’t have to be. This is something to take for yourself, something your uncle can’t control. Something true where everything else is false. Don’t let pride steal this from you.”
“It’s more than pride.” He stepped into the room at last. A concession, even if he didn’t recognize it as one.
“Is it?” She didn’t shift from the base of the bed.
“If you touch me now, I’m lost,” he said gruffly.
She brushed her hair over one shoulder and watched a flame ignite in the golden eyes as they dwelt on the tumbling mass of black. “The decision is yours. You have little enough freedom.”
“While you flaunt yourself before me like every dream I’ve ever had.” Bitterness laced his voice.
He took another step. Soon, if she reached out, she’d be able to touch him. Oh, how she longed to touch him. But the time wasn’t yet right. “This could be our only chance, Matthew. Heaven forgive me, but I’ve never wanted a man before. I want you. Don’t make me want alone.”
“You know you don’t want alone, Grace.” Another step. He extended one hand but let it fall before he made contact. “I may disappoint you. I’ve never done this before.”
The words hung between them as if drawn in flame on the air.
She’d won.
Praise God and all His angels, she’d won.
She dragged in a relieved breath. The painful twist of tension between her shoulder blades eased. Whatever tomorrow brought, she had tonight. For the first time since this nightmare began, she controlled her destiny. She offered him the same privilege, if he had courage to take it.
She’d never doubted his courage.
The gravity of the moment tightened her throat. Should she guide him, tell him what to do? She was a stranger to all but the basics. Ridiculous after nine years of marriage, but true. For the sake of his pride, for the sake of his manhood, she didn’t want to play teacher to his student.
“I am at your disposal.” She smiled as his final step brought him directly in front of her.
“I love your smile, do you know that?” he said tenderly, framing her jaw in two careful hands. “How is a fellow to make a start with this business, Mrs. Paget?”
Her smile widened while desire bubbled like champagne inside her. “A kiss is always a good beginning.”
Matthew stared into her beautiful face while a crowd of chaotic emotions jostled within.
He’d dreamed of a woman for so long. A woman to ease his anguish, his anger, his loneliness.
That animal relief wasn’t what he wanted from Grace.
From Grace he wanted…love.
So his touch was gentle as he cupped her face between his palms. Slowly, he bent his head to brush his lips across hers.
He sipped pleasure, coaxing her to open. Her lips softened, parted. She sighed and gave herself up to the kiss with a swiftness that made his blood leap with joy.
He used his tongue to explore the warm recesses of her mouth, learning again her sweetness, her passion. Her tongue fluttered to meet his and the dizzying pleasure threatened to spin out of control.
It was the same melting delight he’d savored yesterday. But it was also different. Even yesterday, she’d clung to a vestige of prudence. Tonight, she held nothing back. He read surrender in her uninhibited response, in the fluid yielding of her body. Her nipples were hard points against his chest. Soon he’d taste her there. The prospect shot a blinding jolt of lust through him.
With increasing confidence, he intensified the pressure. She hummed low in her throat and drew his tongue deep into her mouth. His heart slammed against his ribs at the glorious sensation. He lashed his arms around her, pulling her tight against him. She gasped and clung closer, her fingers clenching and unclenching in the lawn shirt that stretched across his back. The kiss developed a desperate edge.
Careful, Matthew. Careful.
If he didn’t discipline his hunger, he’d hurt her. He tore his mouth from hers and stared helplessly down into her dazed eyes. He craved her so much, he was delirious. But he didn’t want to attack her the way a starving man fell on his first meal after a famine.
Although, God knew, he starved for her.
“Oh, my,” she gasped, releasing him and staggering back against the bed. She looked like she’d lived through an earthquake. A hectic flush lay along her cheekbones and her lips were red and full. From his kisses, not paint, he recognized with a sharp punch of satisfaction.
She pressed one shaking hand to her chest. Each ragged breath lifted her full breasts under the sheer nightdress. He closed his eyes briefly and prayed for restraint, while every moment made restraint more elusive.
Even the few inches of space between them tortured him.
“Come here,” he said roughly, tugging her into his arms again. All that shining black hair had teased him since he stood in the doorway. Now it slid around him like dark satin.
His mouth plunged down to take hers. She answered with wild ardor. Her slender body was tensile as hot steel.
Her mouth ravished his, hungry, rapacious. The openness of her desire astounded him, made his cock swell and pulse against her belly.
He wanted to devour her. Jesus, he already did a fair job of it.
He tried to hold himself back by concentrating on her responses. But her responses were so willing and ready, they only stoked the heat inside him until he threatened to combust to ashes.
He raked hot, open-mouthed kisses across her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, her jaw, her neck. He wanted to inhale her, ingest her, so he’d never be without her. She tasted like salty honey. She tasted like heaven. He couldn’t get enough of her.
The scent of jasmine whirled around him. Heavy. Dark. Whispering of sin and seduction. But beneath her heady perfume, she still smelled like sunshine, like the woman he’d first held and wanted. The woman he’d want forever. The woman as much a part of him as blood or bones.
He traced a line of hard, sucking kisses along the tendon that ran down her neck. She gave a choked gasp and trembled in his arms.
Interesting.
He used his teeth, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make her shiver and moan.
How fascinating a woman’s body was. How fascinating Grace’s body was.
He followed her collarbone with his lips. Paused to explore the wildly fluttering pulse at the base of her throat. She sighed and arched into him.
Reluctantly, he left that hollow, so warm and redolent of her, to discover the silken firmness of her shoulder. His lips met one of the fragile knots holding her nightdress.
Soon, soon that knot would loosen to his fingers.
Even while his blood trumpeted the need for haste, he forced himself to linger. He didn’t trust how long this joy would be his. His uncle’s schemes had caught him out before. He’d experience all he could before fate stole his treasu
re.
Her scent, sharp with what he instinctively recognized as arousal, intoxicated him. She trembled like a reed in a gale and her sighs and gasps filled his ears with the sweetest music he’d ever heard.
Suddenly impatient with barriers, he pulled away to shuck his shirt over his head and fling it into the corner. He didn’t dare remove his trousers. If he did, he’d be on her. The friction of worn nankeen on his tumescent sex already threatened to send him over the edge.
He battled his ravening impulses. Grace deserved better than a rough tumble from an inexperienced boy.
Then he saw her face and good intentions shattered.
She leaned against the bed as she had when he came into the room. But instead of presenting a picture of nervous determination, her cheeks were flushed and her mouth was swollen with kisses. She reached out to touch his chest, stroking the scattered hair across his pectorals.
“You’re magnificent,” she said softly.
Her thumb grazed one nipple and he shuddered. This was torture. Exquisite torture. The fascination in her eyes made him feel like a king.
“I’m just a man who wants you beyond reason,” he said rawly.
Speech evaporated as she touched his belly. He sucked in an agonized breath while those seeking fingers seared his flesh.
Her open curiosity puzzled him. Surely she knew how a man was made, even if her husband had been an unsatisfactory lover. But her face reflected his own wonder as she tested the firmness of abdomen, the dip of navel, the rim of hip.
And lower.
He groaned when her wandering hand settled on his erection. Her fingers took up a hesitant rubbing motion. He closed his eyes so hard that stars exploded in his vision.
If she kept touching him, this would be over in seconds. He still wouldn’t know how it felt to lose himself inside a woman.
Inside this woman.
“Grace, no,” he said in a strangled voice, grabbing her wrist.
“Don’t you like it?”
Her uncertainty brought him back to himself as nothing else could have. “You threaten to unman me, Grace.”
Comprehension flared in her eyes, turning them the color of the sea at sunset. Then she smiled, a witch’s smile, a siren’s smile.
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