Leaning in, he methodically grazed her cheek. “Do you need time to think about it?”
Her heartbeat throbbed in her ears.
His husky features tightened. “I’ll ensure no babe comes of it.”
“A babe?” she breathed out.
He traced her jaw more firmly, outlining it with a possessive intensity that made her tremble. Dragging his large hand into the curls of her bundled hair, he angled her face upward with a gentle tug. “Did no one ever tell you where babes come from?”
A fading breath escaped her. She had a feeling she was about to find out all the details respectable society had left out.
His other hand drifted toward the side of her hair and skimmed it. Watching his own fingers, he removed a hairpin and tossed it onto the carpet. Holding her gaze, he removed yet another pin, tossing it.
What was he doing?
His fingers indulgently pulled out another pin and another, until all of her blond curls fell around his hands and her shoulders in a curtain.
She raised her eyes to his, feeling naked.
He heatedly searched her face and wove his fingers through her hair, spreading it across her shoulders. “You look different with your hair down. Less prim. More willing.”
She swallowed.
Tightening his hold on her hair, he raveled a section of its length around each hand, gripping it possessively as if he never meant to let go. “Can I kiss you?”
Her pulse thundered. “I…suppose.” Her cheeks flamed in disbelief that she had just given him permission.
“You suppose?” His grip on her hair tightened. “I’ll ensure next time, you’re more enthusiastic.” Dipping his head toward her, he captured her lips.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She swayed against him and his heat whilst his lips forcefully parted hers. The velvety, slick fire of a tongue that tasted of mint brandy slipped deep into her mouth.
Her heart pounded as it leisurely rolled against her tongue and teeth.
She thought a kiss was but a mere brush of the lips.
By goodness, was she ever wrong, wrong, wrong.
He tugged her hair harder with both fists. His mouth moved more forcefully against hers, until she could feel her very jaw aching. He was demanding she move her tongue.
So she did. She slid it against his.
A groan rumbled out from his lips against her own as he tugged on her hair again, stinging her scalp.
She didn’t mind the tugging. It made her feel like a leaf dancing in the whipping wind, seeing the world from above. She slid her tongue against his less tentatively, giving in to his taste and touch.
He remolded his mouth against hers, rigidly rolling his tongue against hers with a pent-up explosion waiting to happen.
Her hands daringly roamed up that broad chest, her fingers skimming the smooth silk of his vest, which was so unlike the solid muscles beneath. In a glorious haze, her hands rounded those broad shoulders and clambered up and into his soft, thick hair. Her very fingertips tingled and curled like the rest of her.
His lips jumped away from her mouth and his hands unraveled from her hair. “No touching.”
Her eyes flew open, confused.
“I do all the touching…you got that?” His hands jumped down to her wrists. His fingers dug into each wrist before he yanked them both behind her back, clamping them together. “Don’t move.”
She gasped and stumbled against him.
Still holding her hands behind her back, he leaned in and smeared his mouth down her exposed throat, his hot, wet tongue gliding down, down the curve. He nipped and sucked the delicate skin of her lower throat, causing her to shudder against him. His shaven chin grazed her. “I have this overwhelming feeling,” he hoarsely said against her skin, “I’m going to enjoy our time together.”
It was too much. She tried to steady herself but with her hands behind her back, she felt unable to.
“Keep your hands behind your back. And don’t touch me.” He instantly released her wrists.
She swallowed and did her best to obey, trying not to sway against him.
His palms now slowly veered down to her bodice. “Are you wet for me?”
She sucked in a breath when he slid his fingers up and down the satin material of her gown around both breasts, grinding himself into her with his hips and his—
It was hard.
He rolled his hips against her rhythmically, skimming fingers up to her throat and dragging them back down to her breasts.
The thump of a boot against the door frame made them both freeze against each other.
“A reminder that you are not alone,” Henry called out from the open doorway, sounding incredibly riled. “When you two are done negotiating, find yourself in my study, Atwood. We have less than two hours before my wife comes home. So keep the goddamn clothes on. Gene? I’m astounded. I will say no more.” Swinging away, his footfalls disappeared down the hall.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
With respect to the language that may have passed between us, I admit that it may have not been the most chaste.
—P. Egan, Boxiana (1823)
SHE HAD never been more mortified.
Atwood tucked her head against the contours of his chest but said nothing.
She still clung to him, unable to move.
Pulling away from her, his large hands curved down the length of her arms with digging fingers until they dropped away completely. He eyed her. “I didn’t force myself on you, did I?”
Her cheeks bloomed with heat. She brought a trembling hand to her hair, sweeping long sections of it away from the sides of her face. “No.”
Swiping a hand over his mouth, he fisted that same hand and dug it against his teeth. After a long moment of silence, he grated out past that fist, “You are inevitable, you know that?”
Why was he biting his hand? “You don’t appear to be in the least bit pleased by my inevitability.”
He dropped his hand back to his side and gave her a sidelong glance of disbelief. “No. I’m not. And I’ll tell you why. Because I feel like I was put into a situation I knew I wasn’t going to be able to get out of. For Christ’s sake, the last thing I wanted was to be married again. And to you, no less. To you.”
She stiffened, her womanly pride prickling. To her, no less? What did that mean? What was so wrong with her that he felt a need to emphasize it aloud with so much vile annoyance? And after he had indulged himself to the brim? She knew she was odd and couldn’t speak well when it was needed most but did he really have to—
It stung. More than she wanted it to. “Leave,” she choked out. “My brother will—” She wanted to add much, much more to the sentiment, but was too upset and her throat too tight with emotion. Her tongue was already feeling heavy and set to stutter.
He quirked a dark brow. “Your brother will what?”
She whipped a forefinger to the parlor entrance, knowing that if she spoke, it would only be in broken fragments that would make her look half-witted. And she was not going to be upstaged after that hip-grinding, breast-tweaking display her brother had to witness.
Nathaniel stared. “Why the devil are you so miffed?”
Oh, she would show him miffed, making her feel like a piece of fat he’d cut off the mutton when she was giving them all an opportunity of a lifetime. Just because she was naive to the ways of men didn’t make her naive to the ways of being demeaned.
Shaking her finger rigidly at the direction of the parlor entrance, she hoped to God he would just go and spare her the humiliation of having to use words.
Lines of concentration etched his brow. He angled toward her. “Is this about your stutter?”
Her eyes widened. Oh, God. He knew. Her own brother had tattled about her stuttering as if she were some medical aberration in need of pity.
His countenance notably softened. “Imogene. I’ve been through far too much to judge. Believe me. I don’t care what it sounds like. Say whatever you need to.”
He fel
t sorry for her. Henry had no doubt even asked the man to play governess to her until the championship. It was…humiliating. Like she was being passed from one set of panicked hands to another.
Nathaniel eyed her. “One of the boys in New York had a stutter.”
This just kept getting worse. She was now being compared to some American boy. Hardly a compliment.
Taking on a pensive look, he added, “I have an idea. Seeing we have four months of this ahead of us, why not deal with it now?” He lifted his shaven chin and undid his cravat, tossing it aside.
She scrambled back, her throat tightening all the more. What was he doing?
He casually undid the buttons on his waistcoat. “You and I are going to play Devil’s Dare. It’s a game men and women play in the Five Points. The idea is that I have to get you to take the Devil’s Dare through verbal bribes before all of my clothes are removed and I’m forced to walk into the street naked. The Devil’s Dare is this—you have to say something. So for each bribe I issue and each bribe you reject, a piece of my clothing is removed until I’m forced to walk into the streets in nothing but my goodwill. Now I know you like me well enough not to let me walk into the street naked. Or at least, I hope you do. Are you ready?”
She gaped. Was he being serious?
“Imogene, I will buy you a necklace made of rubies after I get my seven thousand.”
She swallowed, trying to steady her breathing. What was he doing?
“Clearly, you reject.” He shrugged off his coat from each muscled arm and let it fall to the floor. “Imogene, I’m not one for fawning, but I’ll take you into a garden and pick flowers for you. Would you like that?”
Mother of heaven. Why was he—
“Clearly, you reject.” Holding her gaze, he shrugged off his waistcoat. It rustled to his booted feet. “Imogene, I’ll dance with you on the rooftop of whatever house we move into during our four-month marriage.”
He didn’t expect her to play along, did he?
“Clearly, you reject.” He yanked out his linen shirt from his trousers, letting it fall past his hips. “Imogene, I will do something I have never done for a woman. I will take you shopping and hold all of your parcels.”
She clamped a trembling hand over her mouth.
“Clearly, you reject. I’m also running out of clothing, so you better take up the next offer.” He yanked off the linen shirt with a ripple of solid movements that exposed the menacingly well-sculpted muscles of a broad chest and arms that visibly shifted and tightened against scars that bespoke years of fighting. He tossed the shirt.
She gasped, her heart pounding in disbelief, and glanced toward the open doorway and back again at that bare chest, dreading Henry might come in and shoot them both.
“Imogene, I will always listen to whatever you have to say. No matter how you say it or why you say it.” Holding her gaze, he dragged his hands down toward the front flap of his trousers, planning on doing away with them next.
Oh, dear God. She had to save him and herself. “I accept!” she choked out.
His hands stilled at the flap of his trousers. His blue eyes intently held hers. “Good. Now tell me why the hell you’re so miffed before the trousers come off and I walk out into the street naked. Don’t think I won’t.”
She had no doubt the man would.
A savage need to get him back into all of his clothes before he really did walk out into the street naked created a wild burst of flurried emotions that allowed her to yell it all out. “Insensitive! That is what you are. Insensitive! T-t-to unravel my hair and kiss me and-and-and-and touch me like that in the most intimate of-of-of places, only t-t-to tell me I am unworthy of being wed, given the-the-the opportunity I am offering you, is-is-is insensitive! And I’m not going to even t-t-touch upon the fact that you are incredibly n-n-naked!”
She staggered and fisted her hands in disbelief, knowing she had not only said everything she needed to say, but had done it without even thinking or caring that he had heard her stutter. She had never spoken to anyone through a stutter since she was seven. Because it made her feel stupid. But for some reason, she didn’t feel stupid. Not when he was the one standing before her half-naked.
It was the most liberating thing she had ever known.
He continued to intently observe her and half nodded, as if fully aware of what he had just contributed to.
“You need to learn not to care what people think. Most people revel in finding fault even in perfection. Don’t kneel to that or them. Instead, ask yourself if the simplest of creatures would care. Those creatures whose only purpose in life is to survive. Would the birds and the roaches care? No. The birds will continue to fly and the roaches will continue to crawl whether you stutter or not. And if the birds and the roaches don’t care, why the hell should you?”
Imogene swallowed, tears unexpectedly burning her eyes. She had never known anyone to have made this much of a genuine effort to help her. And it made her want to do more than agree to their contract. It made her want to love this man for the rest of her life.
He angled toward her. “I know full well I can be an insensitive asshole. I haven’t had the easiest life. Though that is no excuse.”
A complete calm veiled itself over her, knowing he was asking for forgiveness. She swallowed and nodded.
He strode toward her and veered in, leaning in so close the soap-scented heat of his half-naked body wavered. “You and I will have to learn to get along these next four months,” he huskily offered. “We can do this. We’re talking about a quarter of a million pounds. It’s going to change all of our lives.”
She met his gaze, trying not to lower her attention to that broad bare chest, and managed, “Can you put your clothes on?”
He sauntered back and pointed at her. “I’ll try not to be offended.” He swiped up the linen shirt he had earlier tossed and yanked it on. “There is one thing I will not tolerate over these next four months. ’Tis simple, really. I want no other men around while we’re together. Save it for after we have gone our separate ways. It’s less complicated.”
His wife must have overindulged in men. “She broke your heart, didn’t she?”
He paused. “Who?”
“Your former wife.”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
She lowered her gaze to keep herself from watching the way his hands stuffed his linen shirt into his trousers. Everything about him exuded a casualness she didn’t feel.
He gathered up more of his scattered clothes and pulled on his waistcoat.
She pressed her hands together. “How did you meet her? Was it romantic?”
“She and I didn’t have that sort of relationship. I met her at the brothel I worked at back in New York in my younger years.”
She gaped. “A brothel? You mean…?”
He hesitated in the midst of buttoning his waistcoat. “Yes. An establishment where women carouse naked with men for a set sum.” He finished fastening the buttons.
She stared. She only knew of the word because she had heard her sister-in-law chide about it from time to time when ranting at Henry. The way Nathaniel was nonchalantly discussing this with her was somewhat disturbing. “And you worked at such a place?” she asked in disbelief. “Doing what? Being naked?”
With an amused tsk, he tied his cravat and smoothed it with both hands. “No. I was a servant for the establishment. A fully clothed one.” He shrugged on his coat. “It paid well enough for a boy who had nothing.”
“And your wife was one of these girls who…?”
A small smile tilted his lips as if he were fondly remembering what used to be. “Fancy story, that. Do you want to hear it?”
Did she? “Uh…yes?”
He still smiled. “I was sixteen when Jane, at almost seventeen herself, struts right in off the street, into the brothel and yells out at the top of her voice she’s got virginity to sell. I never laughed so hard. That was what I loved about her. She knew how to make me laugh. She wasn’t pr
etty, but she didn’t have to be. She had this…spark. And the most amusing thing was…she really did have virginity to sell. She was doing it to help her mother with large debts. Madam Delora was ruffled and had quickly brought in a physician to prove her claim. It isn’t every day virginity willingly walks into a brothel like that.”
Imogene didn’t know why, but it agitated her, knowing his former wife still put a smile on his face. “Why do you smile when you speak of her?”
He captured her gaze. “Why do you ask? Are you jealous?”
It was like he was taunting her. “’Tis merely a question.”
“I have to smile. She was the first girl I…” He eyed her. “You know. Rolled around with in bed.”
Her eyes widened. That was far more than she wanted to know.
He glanced away. “As it turned out, Jane wasn’t as willing to barter herself as she had let on. She was scared witless once the auction had been set and men started bartering. I felt sorry for her and knew once she started down that path of prostitution, there would be no way out. So I gave her a way out. It was the right thing to do. She and I married before Madam Delora could hunt us down. Ended up we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. That was also about the time I discovered the girl was overly fond of mixing laudanum with whiskey. Though I tried, I couldn’t save her from that.”
He sighed. “I liked her well enough,” he muttered. “But what had started as helping a girl and having a bit of fun turned into a bloody mess. I had to change my name eleven times and move to eleven different places because she kept following me, trying to get money out of me. That’s what happens when you help certain people out. They not only take advantage, they try to drown you. I quickly learned to avoid women like that.” He was quiet for a moment.
Imogene’s emotions sagged. There was genuine compassion hidden within that nonchalance. She softened her voice. “I’m sorry about what I said about you being insensitive. I can understand how life can make us such. I only hope you and I can learn to be friends throughout all of this. Real friends. Aside from Henry, I never had a friend. I wasn’t very good at making any due to my illness. Other mamas would bring their daughters over to try to play with me, when I was younger, but I never wanted to speak lest I stutter. And then when I did play with them, I was usually fainting in the most awkward of times. I was hardly anything to play with. I’m still not much to play with.” She hesitated, realizing that she had been rambling. “Forgive me. That had nothing to do with anything.”
Forever a Lord Page 15
