The Look of Love

by Kelly, Julia

  “I will admit it hasn’t been an easy transition from living on a scant two hundred pounds a year to having an income many times that,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s petty, but there’s something unmanly about having your situation elevated so swiftly because of your wife’s accounts. I’ve been raised to expect to provide an income for my wife if I ever were to marry.”

  “That’s why Mr. Moray’s job was so important to you,” she said, realization dawning on her.

  “It wasn’t just about writing again. It was also about being paid and contributing,” he said. “I’m not the sort of gentleman to scorn hard work.”

  “I should’ve realized. Aunt Jacqueline had no interest in running my father’s house, so I’ve been making decisions and keeping the household economy on my own for so long I hardly think about it any longer.”

  “I know marrying you was never about your money, but I have to also feel that way,” he said.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand stretch across the table to hers.

  “I think I’m beginning to understand,” she whispered, and then, because she wanted to, she lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Gavin understood her in a way that no one else did, and she was going to do her very best to try to do the same for him.

  When she looked up at him through her lashes, his expression was unreadable in the candlelight. Still, instead of pulling away he squeezed her hand.

  “Perhaps we should see what Mrs. Hart sent us off with,” he said. “I have a feeling this will be a memorable feast.”

  If Gavin thought anything of the fact that she’d kissed his hand he didn’t show it. Instead, he sipped his wine and ate his food amidst the easy banter.

  “What do you mean you’ve never learned to swim?” he asked.

  “Where would I have gone swimming in the middle of Edinburgh?”

  “This whole country is spotted with lochs. One of them must have been convenient for a dip,” he said.

  “Have you ever put your hand into a loch?” she asked with a laugh.

  “I can’t say that I have.”

  She pointed her wineglass at him. “Precisely. They’re fed by snow. Just think of how cold that would be.”

  “That just means that Scotsmen aren’t as hearty as they pretend to be.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you insulting your adopted country?”

  “I’m an Englishman at heart, remember?”

  “One who, I’d like to point out, is displaying classic English arrogance,” she said, popping a grape into her mouth. She chewed thoughtfully. “Tell me something you’ve never done.”

  “Like what?” he asked.

  She threw out the first question that popped into her mind. “I’ve never stolen something in my life. Have you?”

  “Yes.”

  She laughed and said, “You have?”

  “In Ashington,” he said, dropping his voice into a mock sober confession. “I was seven and wanted an atlas more than anything, but my father refused to send for one from Hatchards. I thought, why bother waiting for permission when I could go to Mr. Lang, the bookseller in town, and buy one for myself, but when I got there I realized I didn’t have enough money. When Mr. Lang’s back was turned, I left what I had on the counter and walked away with the atlas.

  “I was halfway down the street when he ran out and snatched the book back. The atlas was so large I don’t think I could’ve run if I’d wanted to.”

  “Oh, Gavin,” she said, imagining the little boy staggering under the weight of the huge book.

  “I was so scared that I never stole another thing,” he said.

  “I suppose it’s your chance to tell me something you’ve never done.”

  He toyed with the wineglass in his hand, deep in thought, until suddenly his face lit up. “I’ve never dropped a plate at a dinner party.”

  She scowled. “You wretched man, you already know that story.”

  He held up his hand. “I swear on a stack of Bibles I have no earthly idea what you’re talking about.”

  She buried her head in her hands and muttered, “Fine. It was one of my first suppers after I came out. Mrs. Coleman wasn’t my chaperone yet. It was Mrs. Malloy, a friend of my mother’s. I was seated a few chairs down from her, between two gentlemen I didn’t know. I was terrified of saying something wrong, but it was the serving utensils I should’ve worried about.

  “I was reaching for a piece of fish when a bit of oil on the fork made my fingers slip. It clashed against the spoon in my other hand, sending the fish sky-high and the fork straight down onto the serving platter. The poor footman wasn’t paying attention, and the whole thing flew out of his hands and across the room. Five fillets smashed against the baroness’s wall and slid onto the floor.”

  Gavin choked on a sip of wine.

  “I prayed the floor would swallow me whole,” she said.

  “What did you do?”

  “In my panic, I turned to my hostess and asked her if the almanac had called for a rain of fish that evening.” Gavin burst out laughing, and Ina grinned. “She said not that she was aware, but she’d heard once about a shower of frogs in the Highlands.”

  “You’ve never lacked for bravado,” he said, still chuckling as he reached for the bottle of wine to refill both of their glasses.

  “I was so mortified, I couldn’t think of anything else but to bluster my way through it,” she said.

  “It’s your turn again,” he said.

  She sipped her wine and studied him, wanting to wheedle out a confession equally or more humiliating.

  Inspiration struck her and, rather pleased with herself, she said, “I’ve never been caught in a state of dishabille.”

  He snorted. “I was at school, living with dozens of other boys. No one escaped.”

  “School stories don’t count,” she said.

  “According to what rules?”

  “The ones I just made up.”

  “Fine,” he grunted. “Since you insist, I have been caught in a state of undress.”

  Heat flushed her cheeks. She should’ve known it’d happen. Even the slightest provocation from Gavin could send shivers dancing up and down her spine. Her body couldn’t shake the memory of him—or how much she wanted to feel it all over again.

  “One unusually hot day when I was about seventeen I was out riding at home when I decided to stop for a swim at the lake I told you about. I—” He coughed.

  “You took off all your clothes?” she offered helpfully.

  He shot her a look. “Yes. I dove in and was halfway to the middle when I saw my brother on the shore. He was on horseback, waving my trousers over his head like a flag.”

  Her eyes widened. “No. And did he—”

  “He did,” he said with a nod. “He took them as well as my jacket and my shirt and rode all the way back to the stables nearly an acre away.”

  “What did you do?” she asked, pitching over the table in curiosity.

  He shrugged. “What else could I do? I pulled on my smallclothes which, fortunately, Richard had left me, climbed on my horse, and rode back home.”

  Her sides ached from trying to hold in the giggles that threatened to erupt, but she wanted to hear the end of his story. “Did anyone see you?”

  “As a matter of fact, my mother was taking tea in the garden with several ladies. My future sister-in-law, Grace, was in attendance. Her friend almost fainted on the spot.”

  It was too much. She broke into peals of laughter at the thought of a sopping wet Gavin bowing to the ladies from atop his horse. “Oh, that’s wicked of Richard. And to think I used to regret being an only child.”

  He grinned. “You would’ve held your own. I have the utmost confidence in your wily ways,” he said.

  “I
shall choose to take that as a compliment,” she said as the giggles slowed.

  “It was meant as one.”

  The heady mix of wine and laughter was making her bolder. Not reckless or dizzy, as it had the one time Gavin had found her drunk on her father’s whisky, just . . . looser.

  “It’s your turn,” she said.

  “I forfeit my turn,” he said.

  “That’s not how the game is played.”

  “You can invent rules but I can’t?” he asked.

  “Fine. I’ve never undone a lady’s garters,” she threw out.

  His eyes narrowed. “Ina.”

  “I’ve undone my own,” she said quickly. The challenge had slipped out without her really thinking how it would sound, but she couldn’t take it back now.

  “Ina.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, ready for the weight of his embarrassment to come crashing down on her.

  “That you even have to ask me wounds my manly pride.”

  Her eyes snapped open.

  “In fact,” he said with a teasing grin, “I can do it without using my hands.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “GAVIN, THAT’S POSITIVELY rakish,” Ina said, a little scandalized but far more intrigued. “And I’m certain impossible. The knots would be too tight.”

  He arched a brow. “Are you willing to place a wager on that?”

  Her heart thumped hard against her chest and she was slick between her legs with arousal thanks to the low hum of attraction that had been flowing between them throughout dinner. He shouldn’t be able to make her throb for him with just a suggestive arch of his eyebrow, but the challenge in his words twisted her up.

  “What would I wager?” she asked.

  He pointed to a small basket they hadn’t opened yet that sat innocently at the end of the table. “I happen to know there’s a raspberry tart in there.”

  “You’re hiding raspberry tarts from me?”

  He held up a finger. “Raspberry tart. One. It hardly seemed fair to bring it out, but now . . .”

  “I love raspberry,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “Then it’s the perfect wager,” she said.

  Anticipation fizzed in her as he pulled the pastry out and unwrapped it.

  “So, if I can prove you wrong, I win this,” he said.

  “You won’t.” She tried her best to smile saucily, but all she could manage was a nervous turn of her lips.

  “I will.”

  “You’ll have to show me,” she said. “I won’t take you at your word when it comes to this.”

  “Now?” he asked. “Right here?”

  She swallowed but forced herself to lock eyes with him. “Unless you’re scared.”

  His tongue flicked out over his lips, and she could almost feel it slide over her. She knew that she shouldn’t, but she craved him. She wanted her Gavin again.

  “All right then,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

  He set the tart carefully on top of the basket and pushed back from the table. His eyes darkened as he slowly closed the gap between them. But then he stopped in front of her.

  “Are you certain you want me to display my prowess?” he asked.

  She forced herself to stay in place, resisting the urge to lean back or—even worse—surge up and pull him to her.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  He dropped to his knees. Slowly, he took her wineglass from her and set it on the table.

  A bubble of tension welled up in her throat, and she blurted out, “Where was it that you acquired this skill?”

  Amusement lit his eyes. “The skill you accuse me of boasting about without any grounds?”

  She bit her lip as he picked up a bit of her skirt in his fingers and rubbed the wool together as though testing the softness of it.

  “I don’t want to answer that question right now, Ina.”

  “Why not?” she asked. The rules were different for unmarried gentlemen. While she couldn’t suffer even the faintest blemish on her reputation, it was different for him. An enterprising young man could find ways of ensuring that he was divested of his virginity well before he saw the marriage bed.

  What if the woman from the letters taught him?

  Her stomach sank at the thought.

  Gavin let her skirt go and watched the fabric balloon out and settle against her leg once again. “Discussing other women is the very last thing I wish to do with you right now.”

  Her mouth formed an O but this time no sound slipped out, for he’d placed a hand on her skirt-covered knee and was skimming it down the top of her leg toward her foot. Every nerve in her body lit up like fireworks, and she had to repress a gasp. Where there’d been desperation and hunger when he’d grabbed her in his room, now there was only focus—intoxicating, intense focus.

  His fingers lit beneath her hem again before circling her ankle. “Under other circumstances, this would be happening in a different order,” he said.

  “Different?” she asked, her breath quickening.

  “Your boots would come off first,” he said, letting go of her ankle only to lift the hem of her dress and display the polished but well-worn black leather of her boots. They were flecked with mud and pieces of grass that had stuck to them when they’d crossed the island. There was nothing alluring about workaday boots, but Gavin was looking at them as though they were made of the purest gold cloth.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to order him to take them off, but instead she murmured, “What’s next?”

  His hand lighted on the top of her foot, where her laces were snugly tied. But rather than pulling one end free, he skimmed his palm up over her stocking-clad calf.

  “There are so many layers to a lady’s clothes,” he said.

  “That’s not an answer.” She barely managed to get the words out as he slowly glided his fingers up her leg.

  He chuckled. “No, it’s not, but I’m trying to help you understand a gentleman’s dilemma. There’s your dress.”

  The hem scooted up another couple of inches, exposing more of the innocent little flowers that ran down the length of her stocking.

  “But divesting a lady of her dress so early would be rushing. I prefer a more subtle touch.”

  He caressed the roundness of her knee, and her hips arched a fraction of an inch to press her leg more fully into his palm.

  “I wouldn’t have thought that removing a lady’s garter with your teeth would call for subtlety,” she gasped out.

  He stroked his fingers over the back of her knee. “It doesn’t.”

  “Then why do it?” she asked, praying he’d move his damned hand up a little farther. God, that was all she wanted in the world at that moment. Just a few inches higher.

  “It’s nothing more than a distraction that’s supposed to testify to a gentleman’s skill in bed.”

  His second hand joined the first under her skirts. Petticoat, crinoline, and chemise were bunching up around her waist, and she must have looked like wantonness personified, but she didn’t care so long as he didn’t stop.

  “I learned when I was a much younger man,” he said.

  “You’re only twenty-eight.”

  “That’s old enough,” he said. “Since then I’ve come to realize that it’s far better to pursue a lady’s pleasure rather than try to impress her with such distractions. But since you don’t believe me . . .”

  He pushed her skirts to her knees now, folding the fabric back on itself as best he could. She should tell him—he was going to find out anyway—but she hadn’t wanted this game to stop.

  His fingers crept up higher, searching for the top of her stocking. Her breath came in full pants now, ragged and raw. If anyone happened upon them and saw what he was doing to her . . .

  But no one w
ould. They were alone on this island, save for Mr. McDonald. And besides, she was Gavin’s wife.

  She knew the moment he hit the top of her stockings, because his fingers stopped their progress.

  “Ina?”

  “Mmmm . . . ?”

  He pushed the fabric higher, exposing more of her, and then looked up. “You’re not wearing garters.”

  A grin split her face. “I’m not.”

  “But how—?”

  His fingers played over the steel clips at the top of her stockings and up the grosgrain ribbons that stretched up the top of her thighs.

  “They’re sewn into the bottom of my corset,” she said, fighting to keep her voice level and matter-of-fact.

  His hand stilled. “Is that so?”

  “It’s a new design. I understand the French are fond of it.”

  He exhaled and flattened his palms against the top of her thighs. “I never thought I’d say this, but God bless the French.”

  He hadn’t stopped touching her despite finding out she’d tricked him. That, she prayed, was a good sign.

  “If you knew we couldn’t declare a winner, why make the wager at all?” he asked.

  “I wanted to see if you’d do it,” she said softly.

  His lips were just inches from hers when he asked, “Is that the only reason?”

  Her mouth went dry. The decision was hers. If she gave voice to her desires, there would be no denying them later. Her longing for him would be out in the open.

  But then his might be too.

  “I wanted you to touch me,” she whispered.

  And then she kissed him. A soft kiss. One laced with persuasion and permission. Trust and faith.

  A moan rumbled in the back of his throat, and all at once Ina came undone. Her hand slipped into his thick hair that brushed the back of his neck and she pulled him deeper into the kiss. Her other arm played along the hard muscles of his back. He tilted his head to angle his mouth and kiss her deeper. She opened for him, relishing the urgency with which he pulled and sucked her lips. When he used his teeth, she gasped.

  “Ina,” he groaned.

  “Don’t stop,” she murmured against his lips, pulling him to her, but he resisted.