Meanwhile, Cam had shrugged out of his many caped greatcoat and blue superfine. His neckcloth was as limp as Gemma’s hat, and though it must be uncomfortable, he didn’t remove it.
“Do not give up your comfort for my sensibilities’ sake,” Gemma said as she began unbuttoning her pelisse. “After all, we’re as good as married now.”
Cam looked up from an examination of his boots—he was clearly trying to figure out if he should remove them or not—and was arrested by the sight of the bare skin above her bodice. It had been covered by the pelisse, which was long-sleeved and high-necked. As Gemma watched, his eyes darkened and she felt an answering flush run through her.
“I meant your cravat,” she said moving her gaze to rest on the knotted linen at his neck.
Wordlessly, he began to loosen the knot that someone—his valet?—had spent a great deal of time perfecting.
It was dreadfully intimate, Gemma realized, just this simple act of watching him unknot his neckcloth. She felt a flutter in her belly and her breath quickened at the realization. This was far more intense than she’d imagined it would be.
When he was finished removing his tie, he stepped closer to her.
She’d never seen a gentleman in shirtsleeves before. Never even seen one with his neck bare. His fine lawn shirt opened into a vee at the hollow beneath his throat, dark curling hair drawing her eye there like a bit of shale in a bed of lime.
“Are you very angry?” he asked softly, reaching out to touch her cheek. His hands were rough. Rougher than those of most gentlemen she guessed. Very likely because he spent much of his time digging in the soil and cleaning fossils and stones. The thought reminded her that she had far more in common with this man who had the ability to bring her to all sorts of strong emotions within the space of a moment.
And yes, anger was one of them.
“A bit,” she admitted, but she didn’t object as he pulled her against that broad chest she couldn’t take her eyes off of. With a sigh, she leaned into his warmth and allowed him to hold her. “You must admit it was a scurvy trick.”
To his credit, he didn’t laugh at her turn of phrase—an epithet she’d picked up from the footman, William, who had a brother in the Royal Navy.
“It was, indeed,” he said, kissing her on the top of the head as he pulled her closer against him, so that her softness was flush against his solid strength. “I couldn’t let Paley leave with the kind of gossip seeing us here together alone would have started, though,” he said, his breath warm against her ear. “I’d have had to call him out in truth, this time.”
“I know,” she said, her own voice sounding breathy to her own ears. “But, without warning. I wasn’t ready. I mean, I’d come to the realization that this trip was taking a risk. But…”
“There’s no way I’d have let you go after you let me into your bed, though, Gemma.” His voice sounded apologetic, but there was a hint of steel there that she recognized for what it was. Determination.
She pulled away a little so that she could look him in the eyes. “But you said you would let me go,” she said, frowning. “Did you lie?”
He sighed. “I didn’t lie. Let us instead call it a temporary agreement about which I hoped to change your mind.”
His mouth curved into a sensual smile.
Despite her annoyance with him, she laughed. “Do you really think you’re so skilled at this lovemaking business that you’d be able to sway me from my life goals?”
When he only grinned, she laughed again. “You are incorrigible,” she said breathlessly. He pulled her close again and took her mouth in a kiss that told her just how confident in his skills he was.
When a knock signaled the servants bringing up the bath, they pulled apart, but Gemma couldn’t help but touch her swollen lips.
She watched the play of muscles beneath his shirt and waistcoat as he directed them with the hip bath.
If he was as good as he thought he was, she mused, perhaps it was a good thing they were away from Beauchamp House for this.
Chapter 21
Before she left, the maid, who’d come up with toweling and borrowed nightclothes from the proprietor’s wife, asked tentatively, “Would you like me to assist you, milady?”
Cam had been preparing to put his coat back on, as well as his soggy neckcloth, so that he could go down to the taproom while Gemma bathed, and was startled to hear her tell the girl no and send her on her way.
When they were alone again, he turned from looking at the door to find her watching him.
He hadn’t been this overwhelmed by the prospect of bedding a woman since he was a lad. And just having her gaze on him was almost enough to send him over the edge.
“I’ll need your help with my gown,” she said, her nerves betrayed only by a hint of color in her cheekbones. It had taken some degree of bravery for her to say it so calmly, and he realized he was behaving like a halfling.
She turned her back to him as she stood beside the steaming tub, and wordlessly he crossed to where she waited. When he brushed his fingers over the nape of her neck, he heard her intake of breath, and watched as goose pimples rose on the soft skin there.
The pearl buttons that ran down to the dip just above her heart-shaped bottom were tiny, and not particularly easy to slip through the wool of her gown. So he took his time, unfastening them one by one, allowing himself the luxury of a touch here, a brush of his fingers there, as button by button, the soft creamy skin of her back just visible through the think chemise she wore beneath, revealed itself to him like a flower opening to the sun.
It was impulse that made him kiss her as he went. He let his fingers follow the line of buttons as he concentrated his mouth on the gentle slope of her shoulder, the gossamer place below her ear.
He could feel her shiver at his touch, and it wasn’t from cold.
But he wanted her to know that he did nothing that she didn’t want too.
“Is this agreeable?” he asked, as his fingers stole their way down her back, unfastening as they went.
She giggled a little, and he paused. “What’s funny?”
Turning to face him, she held up the bodice of her gown, which was now gaping in the back.
“I hadn’t expected you to be the sort of man who asked permission,” she said with a raised brow.
He blinked. That was rather a lowering thought. “You think I take without asking?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her. He supposed he hadn’t always been the picture of kindness in her presence, but nor had he expected her to assume he was the kind of fellow who would ravish a lady without gaining any kind of agreement from her.
His dismay must have shown on his face because her brows knit. “I didn’t mean it as a criticism,” she said, her expression troubled now. “Only that you surprised me. I thought asking you to share my bed at Beauchamp House was a sort of blanket permission.”
“That was before I set the cat amongst the pigeons by telling Paley we were wed,” he said with a shake of his head. “I should have thought you might at the very least need to revisit the issue, given that not very long ago you seemed as if you wanted to toss me bodily from the window.”
She glanced at the window, which was rather small, but would have done the job if she had the strength of anger on her side.
“I do not understand you, Cam,” she said finally. “One moment you seem to want nothing more than to hold me in your arms, and the next you’re almost diffident.”
“Because I’m trying not to ride roughshod over you,” he said, pulling away and thrusting a hand through his hair. “I know you think I’m a … a bully, but I am trying not to be for your sake.”
He heard her gasp and then felt her hand on his back. “Cam, I don’t think you’re a bully,” she said firmly. “No more than I am. And I know quite well that I can be as stubborn as they come.”
“I … regret that first meeting between us, Gemma,” he said on a sigh. “More than you can ever know.”
“Well, I don’t,” she said, and he had to turn to see her face because her words were so jarring.
“You despised me that day,” he said frowning. “I despised me that day.”
“But we’ve got past that, haven’t we?” she asked, still grasping her gown to her chest. “There’s more to a person’s personality than one moment.”
“Of course there is,” he agreed. “But I want to be better for you. I was so angry then. At everything. I misunderstood some things about … life. And I’m not that bitter man anymore.”
“I know you’re not,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t be here with you otherwise. No matter how much I wanted to learn the truth about this business with Sir Everard.”
He had no time to respond because she let go of her gown then and she was standing before him in nothing more than her shift and stockings. With the fire behind her, he could see her sweet curves outlined in the light. Unable to stop himself, he reached out to touch her where her waist dipped in.
But she danced away from him. And moving to the side of the tub, she looked him in the eye then reached down and unfastened her garters, then rolled down her stockings. She took her time, just as he’d done with her buttons and by the time she was finished he was in danger of losing his control entirely.
When he reached down to lift her chemise, he knew he should turn away but a team of oxen couldn’t have pulled his gaze away from his first sight of her gloriously naked.
Without a backward glance, she stepped into the hip bath and sighed as she sank into the warm water.
He was in danger of pulling her out of the bath and onto the bed when a knock sounded on the door. He made sure the screen was blocking the view of her, and opened the door to reveal the innkeeper and a couple of footmen with a table and trays of food.
The man seemed to wish to chat about everything from the weather to the state of the roads, but Cam finally had to cut him off in mid-sentence and send him on his way.
Gemma had left the bath and was rosy cheeked and dressed in a very practical flannel nightdress and dressing gown by the time he turned back to her. He felt a pang of disappointment before remembering he’d be taking off those prim garments before much time had passed.
“That smells divine,” she said, padding over to the table in her bare feet. “I hadn’t realized I was so hungry.”
His senses once more in control, Cam took the seat opposite her. He had to admit that the food—fish stew, crusty bread and small beer—was delicious, and like Gemma he was hungrier than he’d thought.
As if by agreement, they talked about inconsequential matters while they ate. She told him about a recent encounter she and Sophia had with Squire Northman’s wife, who still hadn’t forgiven the ladies of Beauchamp House for an ill-fated dinner party when they first arrived. Cam related an amusing story about his brother Freddie and his angst about the prospect of his infant daughter ever being of an age to have gentleman callers.
“But why should that bother him,” Gemma asked, tearing off a bit of bread. “I should think it was something that fathers took for granted.”
“Freddie is the one of us who—before he was wed, mind you—had the most rakish reputation,” Cam explained. He’d always found Freddie’s ability to charm the wings off a ladybug a bit annoying if truth be told. It all seemed so easy for Freddie. Cam didn’t hurt for female company, but he certainly didn’t have the gift for easy conversation that his brothers did. Aloud, he continued, “I suppose he’s afraid that his baby daughter will one day meet the latter day equivalent of … himself?”
Gemma laughed at that. “Poor Freddie. But at least he’ll know what to look out for. It takes one to know one, after all.”
It was a good point. “I’ll tell him you said so,” Cam said with a nod. “Though in fairness, he’s been as straight as an arrow since he married Leonora. He’s desperately in love with her.”
Even as he said it, he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. He might be hellbent on marrying Gemma at this point, but love hadn’t really entered into their conversation thus far. And he didn’t wish to force it there just now either.
But, Gemma had no such reservations. “Will you be disappointed to be the brother who didn’t marry for love?” she asked softly. There was something tentative in her tone, as if she knew it would be a sore subject. But his Gemma wasn’t one to shirk difficult conversations.
He reached across the table to take her hand. “There might be love between us,” he said seriously. “I hope there will be. There is certainly passion. And affection.”
“I see how it is between my sister and Benedick,” she said with a smile. “I hope it will be like that with us.”
“For now, let’s see how it is with us there,” he nodded to the bed, which had been looming in the background throughout the meal.
With a nod, she rose. He did too, and crossed to where she stood.
Before things could become awkward between them, he pulled her against him and kissed her with all the passion he’d been holding in check.
“Yes,” she said against his mouth. “The answer to your question is yes.”
Without replying, he took her in his arms again and carried her the short distance to the bed.
Chapter 22
Gemma felt her heartbeat jump as he carried her to the bed, but rather than laying her down on it, he set her on her feet beside it.
“What are you doing?” she asked, puzzled.
“Removing this chastity belt of a nightdress,” he said with a wry look.
But when he began to remove the dressing gown, she shooed his hands away and said primly, “You remove your clothes, sir. I will manage my own.”
And without argument, his hands went to the buttons on his waistcoat and she shrugged out of the dressing gown and then began unbuttoning what really was the most unenticing flannel nightdress she’d ever seen. She paused, however, when he pulled his lawn shirt over his head.
The hint of hair she’d seen earlier when he uncoiled his neckcloth proved to trail down the center of his chest, and she took in the sight of his broad, muscled chest—the skin slightly tanned from some time spent out of doors in the sun. She’d felt its firmness with her own hands, but the sight of it, and the trail of curly dark hair that disappeared into his breeches was enough to make her mouth dry with wanting. This was what it meant to be intimate, she realized. Knowing what a man looked like out of his clothes as well as in them.
He tossed his shirt to the floor, and turned back to find her watching him.
“You seem very well made,” she said, trying to maintain some dignity even as she felt her cheeks heat. Then, realizing what she’d said, she felt her ears turn red as well.
But to her relief, he didn’t laugh, only said gravely, “Thank you. As are you.”
And gently, as if he were trying not to spook a nervous horse, he moved his hands to where hers clutched the buttons of her nightdress and finished unbuttoning it for her. The enormity of what was to come sent a wave of emotion through her then, and she was grateful for the care he took with her. She looked down when the idea of meeting his eyes became too much, but she saw the bulge in his breeches there and looked up and focused on a freckle on his bare shoulder instead.
But then she was looking into his eyes again because he’d pushed the flannel gown off her shoulders and it fell with a shushing sound to the floor.
“My bosom is far too small,” she said as she felt his eyes roam over her. “And I’m too fleshy around the middle.”
She was about to continue with a critique of her legs, but he stopped her with his mouth. His voice husky he said to her, “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
He pulled away, and cupped her breast. “See how it fits perfectly in my hand.”
She glanced down and the sight of his dark hand on her pale skin sent a wave of heat through her.
“And in my mouth,” he said lifting her onto the bed, then following her up.
Jus
t his words were enough to send a stab of sensation to her core.
And then he suited his words to deed and took her rosy nipple into his hot mouth and she thought she would combust. “Oh.” She clutched at his shoulders as if she could pull him closer. Then he stroked a thumb over her other breast and she felt another jolt of fire run between her breast and her center.
“Perfection,” he said, his deep voice vibrating through her as he kissed his way down her breast and over her ribs. “As soft as silk and so responsive.”
A restlessness was taking over her, however, and she wanted him back with his mouth on her.
“You’re as well formed as one of Elgin’s marbles come to life,” he said opening his mouth over the dip of her waist and then kissing his way further down.
Gemma was awash in desire at the sensations he roused, but when she felt his hand grip her hip, she realized what lay at the destination his mouth seemed intent on visiting. “Wait, Cam, where are you…?”
She felt his laugh softly against her lower belly. Pushing himself up a little, he looked up at her and she was taken aback by the view of him looking up her naked body at her.
“Do you trust me, sweet?” he asked, his eyes dark with passion. “Because I very much want to kiss you here. And I think it will make your pleasure when I take you better.”
“You think?” she asked, suddenly very aware of the fact that this was the strangest conversation she’d ever engaged in.
He had the decency to look abashed. “I’m afraid I don’t have any experience bedding virgins,” he said with a slight shrug. “But the last thing I want is to give you pain and I know there can be pain the first time…”
His expression betrayed his concern about causing her discomfort and Gemma felt her chest constrict at the knowledge. He was so much kinder than he revealed to the world.
“Very well,” she said with a small nod. “If you think this will help with…”
And without waiting for her to finish her statement, he shifted so that her knees were over his shoulders. Her complaint, however, lodged in her throat as she felt his hot tongue slide up the center of her, right where she hadn’t even known she needed him.
One for the Rogue Page 21
