Ashe was coming. Her body thrilled to the idea even as Genevra’s mind counselled against it. She should send him away, give him some nonsense about wanting to wait for the wedding before they were together again. But that was ridiculous. Her body didn’t want to wait even two days.
She realised in retrospect that he’d been priming her for this all night in subtle ways. His hand had lingered at her back when he’d seated her for dinner. His eyes had held hers a bit longer than necessary during the meal. He’d been flirting all night in small ways, heightening the anticipation that they would continue what they’d started at the inn. Perhaps he was already setting the pattern for their marriage.
It had most definitely worked. Here she was, dressed in a satin nightgown in record time and all put pacing the floor when she knew he couldn’t possibly venture to her room until the house was settled. Impending nuptials or not, it wouldn’t do to be caught sneaking up to her room.
Genevra hoped the house would settle soon. Perhaps she should make a list of all the things that needed doing, all the plans she’d need to co-ordinate for her own estate from here. She went to the little writing desk and pulled out paper and ink. She’d just begun the task when the scratch came.
A slow smile crept across her lips. He was here. Genevra rose and smoothed her gown for good measure. ‘Come in.’ There was a small catch to her voice that belied her anticipation. If she sounded more eager than she preferred, she could be forgiven for that. Ashe in dishabille was a sensual sight designed to arouse the staunchest spinster.
He carried a small black canvas bag in one hand and was dressed for the night in a blue-paisley banyan and slippers, but not much else if the view of smooth skin at his neck and chest where the banyan vee’d was to be believed. A tremor of desire shot through her at the thought of him naked beneath the robe. How daring, too, it had been of him to take such a chance wandering the house dressed like that.
‘I see we are of like minds.’ Ashe’s eyes slid over her form, hot appreciation evident in his gaze, her body responding instantly.
‘Only I’m not wandering the house,’ Genevra teased. ‘Is Alex settled?’
‘He is very glad to be back in his own rooms.’ A faint smile hovered on Ashe’s lips. ‘I stayed and talked with him a while. It’s why I’m a bit later than I expected.’
‘No apology needed. He is your brother—’
Ashe shook his head in interruption. ‘It’s been a long day, right now I want to set all that aside. I just want you.’
I just want you. Those words could atone for a variety of sins. But Genevra was careful to understand them for what they were. She was his escape. There was both compliment and insult in that. Was this the pattern he wanted established in their marriage? Would he come to her after a long day and lose himself in her body while keeping his thoughts locked away?
He came to her now, ready to be lost, his hands resting possessively on her hips, his mouth engaging hers in a light caress that aroused and promised, while still saying ‘not yet’ in the most tantalising of ways. ‘Give me a moment to make everything ready,’ he whispered against her neck.
He left her and strode purposefully to the delicate white table beside her bed.
He placed the bag on it and began setting out items: small stoppered vials, a tiny shallow-bottomed pan and a small wire stand. He turned back to look at her with a wolfish smile. ‘Sit. You’re welcome to watch and to imagine what we might do with these things.’
Genevra watched intently, giving her mind permission to move her earlier misgivings to a far corner. Ashe’s movements were too mesmerising to concentrate on much else. There would be time for those contemplations later.
He removed the chimney from her lamp and set the stand over the open flame.
With deft hands, he adjusted the flame and settled the shallow pan above it, creating a burner, carefully pouring in liquid from his bottles. With another man, the process might be merely scientific, but he had the uncanny ability to turn the act of warming liquid into something sinfully decadent. He put his nose over the little burner and inhaled deeply, his eyes shut, his dark lashes long and sensual against the sweep of his cheek.
He exhaled and she could smell it, too, the scent of lavender tinged with the spice of lemon slowly filling the room. He faced her and held out an inviting hand. ‘I am ready for you, Neva. I’ve thought of nothing else a good part of the day.’ When he wasn’t thinking of his brother, or ousting his cousin from the family seat, or dealing with recalcitrant doctors, came the unbidden thought, quickly pushed aside but no less powerful for its brevity.
His eyes were on her and she rose, determined to make good use of his attention. If escape was where they started, she would accept that for the time being and move on from there. Genevra slid the thin straps of her nightgown down her shoulders and gave a graceful shrug that sent the satin garment slithering to a pool at her feet.
‘Temptress,’ Ashe growled his approval, his hands going to the belt at his waist and making quick work of the garment.
Her breath caught at the male beauty on display. She had seem him naked before, but only in firelight. In brighter light, too, he did not disappoint. He smiled in comprehension. ‘Tonight, there will be plenty of time to, ah, shall we say, “appreciate” one another. Come lie down, Neva.’
She felt sure those four words were uniquely designed to render her incapable of any sensible thought. She gladly complied. It was clear he had something planned for her although she could not guess what it was. She was well aware that she was entirely at his mercy while she was naked and sprawled on the bed, a realisation that made her more uncomfortable than she cared to admit. Last night she’d felt in control, a partner. She did not feel that way now. ‘What are we doing?’ She eyed him suspiciously as he retrieved the pan from the burner.
‘Are you nervous?’ The bed took Ashe’s weight as he sat on the edge.
‘Yes,’ she said frankly.
He smiled, all traces of the wolf gone, but he made it clear he would not brook any balking. ‘We won’t do anything you don’t like. We’ll begin with a massage and I guarantee you’ll like it very much. Let me start with your feet.’
Oh, she did like it! The warm oil on her skin was a wicked pleasure made even more so by the slide of his hands on her body, expertly rubbing and pressing as they moved up the length of her: feet, legs, thighs, buttocks. Was there anything as heavenly as this? As decadent as this? Lying naked with a man, his hands on her body, soothing and coaxing, readying—the ultimate foreplay. When he reached her back, he levered himself over her, careful to avoid giving her his full weight. She could feel the heavy brush of his sac as he massaged her back.
‘Where did you learn to do this?’ She was amazed she could form any words at this point.
‘In Venice.’ His hands were at her shoulders now, his thumbs at the base of her neck. ‘It’s quite an art, mostly an eastern one.’ She could believe that. It was far too sinful for stuffy old England to embrace wholesale.
‘Venice sounds wonderful, then,’ she murmured, not wanting to think of who might have taught him the art or where precisely in Venice he’d acquired it.
‘Venice is wonderful. East meets west—it’s the gateway to the Adriatic, to Istanbul, to Egypt. Britain is just starting to see its potential, although others in the east have long recognised it.’ He could make even a lecture in geography sound sinful.
He leaned over her, pushing her hair to one side, his voice low at her ear. ‘Shall I take you now, Neva?’ His phallus nudged at the place between her legs and her buttocks rose instinctively to meet the request. This was new and unfamiliar territory, but her body knew what to do and she’d abandoned her inhibitions at the first caress of his hands.
His arm was about her waist, holding her steady, lifting her to him and then he was in her, his entry swift and sure until she could feel him deep inside her, her body flowing around his intimate presence. This was the pleasure she’d waited the day
for, the pleasure that kept her at Bedevere. Pleasure seemed far too bland a description for the sensations rocketing through her anew at each of his powerful thrusts. She gasped and moaned, reaching for the penultimate release. The thundering pulse of his phallus assured her it was not far off for either of them.
In a fleeting moment of clarity before the shattering liberation of climax took her, the thought swept her ever so briefly; this was not merely sex, a messy act of physical gratification, this was art.
*
Whoever had taught her had not thoroughly tutored her. There was a spark of pride in knowing that he was truly the first to awaken real passion in her. It wasn’t perhaps the most refined of thoughts to have after such a critical moment, but it had popped into his head none the less, a random tangent that had resulted from contemplating the woman beside him.
Ashe propped himself up on one arm and traced lazy circles around the tip of her breast. ‘Will a Friday wedding suit you, Neva? It occurred rather belatedly to me that you might have some friends to invite. We could wait a few days for their travel.’ Now that Henry was physically off the property, Ashe could afford the luxury of a slight delay.
‘No,’ Genevra said simply, but the negation aroused Ashe’s curiosity.
‘I can hardly believe such a beautiful woman has sprung from wholecloth in the midst of Staffordshire.’
She laughed, the delightfully enticing smoky sound that promised a man a lot more than she knew. ‘Hardly wholecloth. You know I’m American. It wouldn’t be prudent to invite my family. We haven’t the time.’
‘Oh, so you do have a family,’ Ashe said in teasing tones. His drawings moved to the other breast. It was hard to believe she was entirely alone.
‘Did,’ Genevra said slowly. ‘There was my father and I for a long time. He passed away shortly after Philip’s accident. Then there was no one to speak of. I have an uncle who grows hops outside Boston. We are not so close any more.’
The scandal, Ashe guessed without asking.
‘Is that why you came to England? Because there was no reason to stay?’
‘Something like that. It seemed like a good challenge.’
‘And you like a challenge? Apparently I do, too. Getting you to talk about yourself is becoming a Herculean feat,’ Ashe joked.
‘You’re not the easiest either.’ Genevra rolled to her side, dislodging his hand and propping herself up. ‘Why did you leave Bedevere?’
Ashe groaned, but it was more playful than tortured. He flipped on to his back, hands behind his head. ‘Second sons are supposed to leave, to get out of the heir’s way so there’s no dissension. I’d always understood that. In a way, I even welcomed that. After Oxford, I was ready to take my gentleman’s education out into the world and see what I could become.’ He sighed. Genevra watched the rise and fall of his chest. ‘It’s not the leaving I regret, Neva, it’s the not coming back.’
Genevra moved a finger in patterns on his chest, copying his earlier gesture.
‘Why is that? Does it have to do with Vienna?’
Ashe shook his head and gave a short laugh. ‘Alex talks too much. I’ll tell you some time, but not tonight.’ He offered an apologetic smile, but no answers, no absolution for her curiosity. Neva would have to wait to learn his darker secrets.
Some things were harder to admit to when one cared what someone thought. It was a stunning revelation to make for a man who’d spent most of his adult life not giving a fig what others thought of his exploits.
He still didn’t care what London thought of him, but he realised he cared what Genevra thought. What would she think if she knew what he’d been doing when his father died? About the quarrel? About Vienna? Would knowing those things affirm for her he was just as bad as she believed him to be? Or would she see the man he was starting to become since he’d arrived home—a man whose past did not necessarily predict his future. He did not regret his past entirely, but neither would he let it drag him down with its limits.
‘I’ll tell you something about me, one of my most shocking secrets.’ Genevra’s voice pulled him away from those thoughts. She was teasing, of course, he could hear it in her tone.
‘I like to make money,’ she announced. ‘And I’m good at it.’ The announcement carried its own shock value. She knew men in London who would be genuinely alarmed. In their world, gentlemen didn’t make money and neither did well-bred ladies. ‘Last year, I doubled the shipping company’s profits with my investments overseas.’
She paused. Ashe could practically hear her gathering her thoughts. ‘You could make money with Bedevere,’ she began tentatively.
‘I’ll get the tenant farms back on their feet in time for spring planting.’ He’d not planned to think about Bedevere while he was in bed with Genevra.
‘No, not farming,’ Genevra insisted. ‘Although that’s fine, too. I mean with the house and the garden. In the spring and summer you can open the house and garden up for tours. We can make scones and serve tea. We can advertise in the guidebooks. I’m doing it at Seaton Hall this summer, giving it a trial run.’ She sounded so earnest, so enterprising.
‘Where do I live while people are swarming my home?’
‘You’ll be in London at least part of the time, I suspect.’ Was she fishing for something there? He heard the hedge in her tone. Did she think he’d go up to town and leave his American wife in the country? He’d not thought of that. It would be one more thing to work out. Genevra would need to be introduced to society eventually. He didn’t relish the prospect, not because he didn’t believe in her capability to pull it off, but because he didn’t necessarily want her encountering the more sordid elements of his life.
‘Maybe I’ll choose to stay in the country,’ Ashe said for the sake of argument just to see what she’d say.
‘Or you can lease the Audley town house if you decide to stay here. There are families visiting London for the Season that wouldn’t mind renting. Either way, you should consider it. You cannot be in both places at once and there’s no sense in one residence remaining idle.’
Ashe laughed. ‘Neva, did anyone ever tell you it’s not sexy to talk about money after making love?’ He was rewarded with a warm hand on his stirring phallus.
‘You don’t seem to particularly mind,’ she whispered coyly.
‘You’re the one who does that to me, not the money, I assure you.’
She straddled him, leaning forwards to let her breasts brush his chest. She kissed him full on the mouth, her hair falling about him like a curtain. His body was rousing, ready for the next bout.
‘It’s better not to know too much all at once, don’t you think?’ He reached for her ear lobe, sucking hard on the tender flesh. ‘I like it this way—pleasure without expectations, without complications.’ She moved a hand between his legs again and he gave up the fight. It wasn’t a hard fight to lose. She liked it this way, too—being enjoyed for simply being a woman, not an heiress. The problem was it couldn’t stay that way. In time, Ashe feared she’d want more than his body. She was that kind of woman; the kind who chose to love fully and would expect that fullness to be reciprocated. Could he be that kind of man? He’d known from the outset this marriage would involve setting aside his pride. He had not expected it to involve love, even one-sided love, but that was fast becoming a consideration and a complication all rolled into one.
Chapter Twenty
It was fast becoming the time to not play nice. Henry hoped the cartel would see recent developments as Ashe’s fault and not his. If there was any nastiness, Henry preferred it be directed at Ashe. Trent, Samuels, Bardsworth, Ellingson and Cunningham were all assembled and anxious. He eyed the group of investors with great trepidation. For the second time in a span of weeks he had to face them with bad news.
‘Your Mrs Ralston is set to marry your cousin in the morning,’ Trent began. ‘It’s not what we talked about.’
He made it sound as if a minor mistake had occurred, like a tailor producing a w
aistcoat in a slightly different shade than what had been agreed upon, but Henry was not fooled into believing his complacency. There was a very real danger to himself here if he did not deflect it.
Henry opted for the high road of righteous indignation. ‘My cousin is worse than ever. He’s thrown me out of the house.’
It wasn’t the strongest course of action. He’d hoped to paint Ashe in a malicious light, but the complaint only weakened his position.
Cunningham looked up. ‘Now you have no direct access to him and no way to keep an eye on things.’
By things, Henry knew Cunningham meant the books. The last disaster would be for Ashe to discover the errors in the ledgers and his perfidy there. It would be enough to get him locked up or transported, neither of which option suited him.
It would also be enough to expose the cartel’s interference in the dealings.
‘Bennington hasn’t mentioned the other piece of news,’ Marcus Trent drawled from the head of the table. ‘Tell them, Bennington, how Bedevere brought his brother home.’
‘Damn it!’ Ellingson exploded from the other end of the table. ‘Can you do nothing right, Bennington? First you lose the heiress, now this. The crazy loon might tell Bedevere something of use and Bedevere might believe him, whether he’s crazy or not.’
Henry forced himself to remain outwardly calm. Inside, however, he shared Ellingson’s explosive feelings. Here at the last it was all falling apart. If it did, he would pay dearly with his freedom and quite possibly his life. Newgate or a prison hulk would be the least of his worries if Trent and company got to him first.
Henry tried a desperate deflection. ‘We must act quickly. It’s not too late to salvage this. We need to shift our plans from minimising the players to eliminating the players.’ It would all be easier if Ashe were simply removed from the situation. The time had come for him and his investment partners to revisit more drastic means of minimising Ashe’s role in the estate’s future. The future of Bedevere lay below ground, not above it. That just might be where Ashe’s future lay, too.
How to Ruin a Reputation (Rakes Beyond Redemption) Page 16
