She gaped at him. “You didn’t know?”
The shock on his face made that perfectly clear. “How could I have known?”
“Didn’t Warren tell you?”
“He damned well did not.”
That’s when it dawned on her. Warren and Delia had only found out about the Lord Hartley connection right before they left for their honeymoon. That was when she’d learned of it, too.
“Which of Warren’s brothers are you talking about?” Niall persisted, now clearly agitated. “He has five.”
Goodness gracious. She probably shouldn’t have said anything. “Lord Hartley. I think they call him Hart.”
“Hart.” Niall scrubbed a hand over his face. “My cousin Hart is the one to whom your husband lost all his money? How the deuce did that happen?”
“Reynold wagered three thousand pounds on a game of piquet in exchange for Lord Hartley wagering a piece of information Reynold wanted very badly.”
“What piece of information?”
Oh, dear, now she really wished she hadn’t mentioned it. “Um. Where you were in Spain.” She gave a shuddering sigh. “You see . . . it turns out that when Reynold went to London, it wasn’t because he had a burning need to gamble. He went because . . . well . . . he was looking for you.”
Fourteen
For a moment, Niall could only gape at her. “He was looking for me?” he repeated inanely. “But what . . . why . . .” He dragged a hand through his hair. “How the bloody hell did your husband even know about me? Did you tell him?”
“Of course not.” She wrapped her arms over her waist. “He found out on his own.”
“How? And how much did he find out? That we’d been in love? And had planned to marry?”
“Everything. He . . . saw some sketches of you that I kept in the bottom of my trunk.”
That arrested Niall. “You kept sketches of me.” Which said more than anything that she’d never stopped caring about him. Missing him.
“A few,” she admitted. “So he demanded to know who the sketches were of, and I . . . told him. I made it sound as if our association was casual, that we were merely friends, but as you know, I’m not very good at—”
“Subterfuge, yes,” he bit out. “You’ve made that abundantly clear.”
“That’s why my answer didn’t satisfy him. He kept badgering me for the truth, and I kept sticking to my story. So one day while I was shopping with Delia, he turned my bedchamber upside down looking for something to confirm his suspicions, and he found the sealed letter I’d wanted your father to send to you.”
“You kept that, too,” Niall said, incredulous.
“It was my reminder not to . . . trust my heart again.” She glanced away. “Reynold opened and read it. So he learned everything. How I’d begged you to return. How I . . . felt about being forced to marry him. The truth that I’d struggled so hard to hide from him.”
“Oh, God,” Niall said hoarsely.
He actually felt a bit sorry for Trevor. He could only imagine how he would have reacted to such a letter. To have this gorgeous angel telling him that he’d always been second choice would have destroyed him.
Then again, he would never have forced into marriage a woman who didn’t want him.
“We had a horrendous row over it,” she admitted. “He demanded to know what had happened between you and me, and I had no choice but to tell him.”
“And as a result he ran off to London in search of me?”
“Not right away, no.” She picked nervously at her pelerine. “He brooded for a few weeks first. I couldn’t bear it. So I sat him down and pointed out that you had betrayed me, that I no longer cared about you, that I’d lost all feeling for you years ago. I told him he and Silas were my whole life, and that wasn’t ever going to change. I honestly thought that was the end of it.”
Niall shook his head. “Did you tell him you loved him?”
Her face closed up. “No. But he knew I didn’t from the day he proposed. I made that very clear.”
“Back then, it wouldn’t have mattered to him what you said. No doubt he’d kept hoping he could change your mind.” The way Niall kept hoping that he could convince her to take a chance on him again. “But after he learned about me and you didn’t profess your love for him, no amount of proclaiming that you were done with me would have convinced him I was out of your life for good. He knew he would never have your heart.”
“He already had the rest of me! And it wasn’t as if I could have . . . taken up with you again if you’d returned. Plus, there was no chance of your returning, which I also made perfectly clear.”
God, she understood men so little. “Sweeting, what he heard was, ‘If my former love were here, I’d be with him, but he’s not, so I’m content to be with you.’ ”
“But how could he think that?” she cried. “I told him I hated you!”
“You didn’t get rid of your sketches of me. Or the letter.” Which gave him hope. “Somewhere in your heart you kept me close, and I daresay he realized that. Hate is the flip side of a coin to love. Indifference is just . . . indifference. And death to a marriage.”
Hurt and guilt shone in her face. “I couldn’t help that I didn’t love—”
“I’m not saying it’s your fault. Just that knowing you didn’t love him probably made hearing about me even worse. Because it meant there was a reason you couldn’t love him. A reason you would never change your mind.”
She turned to walk blindly down the hill. “I thought he accepted that our marriage was the only thing I allowed myself to care about. He never let on that he didn’t believe me.”
He strode alongside her. “Because he didn’t want you to know. A man has his pride, after all.”
“But it was another month before he went off to London. By then I’d thought the matter settled, since he never mentioned it again.”
“I assure you, it was festering all that time.” When she stared at him, her eyes stark, Niall gentled his voice. “I’m judging from how I would have reacted.”
They walked to the edge of the orchard in silence. He wanted to take her in his arms, kiss and touch her, and remind her how much he cared about her. But this probably wasn’t the time.
“So,” Niall ventured, “what explanation did he give for his trip to London?”
“He said he needed to take care of estate business and would be back in a couple of days. Instead, he was gone a fortnight.” She fiddled with her pelerine. “When he returned, he was despondent over his loss of three thousand pounds. To pay the debt, he’d had to mortgage the estate to the hilt.”
“He didn’t tell you why he’d lost the money?”
“He only said a man had cheated him at cards.” She let out a shaky breath.
“Hart cheated? That doesn’t sound like . . . Well, I mean he could, but I wouldn’t expect—”
“You’ll have to ask Warren why. But I think Lord Hartley believed, because of the questions Reynold asked about you, that he was looking for you because he wanted vengeance for Joseph Whiting. There’d already been another of Mr. Whiting’s relatives looking for you, after all.”
“True. And that makes sense. Hart would have protected me at all costs.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “No doubt your husband was too embarrassed to admit he was seeking the rival for his wife’s affections.”
“Too proud, more like.”
“That, too.” Niall glanced at her. “But what did he hope to accomplish by learning my location?”
“I’m not sure.” She sighed. “All I can think is that he wanted to . . . find you and discover why you’d had my heart and he hadn’t? Or perhaps he meant to call you out. I doubt we’ll ever know. He must have had some plan, but he never revealed it. Not until after Delia and Warren’s wedding, when Lord Hartley admitted what had happened, did I even learn that Reynold had gone there for the express purpose of finding out where you were.”
A pang of guilt seized Niall. Because of him, she’d l
ost her husband and been saddled with a debt-ridden estate. Because of him, Silas had lost a father. According to Fulkham, rumor had it that the man had committed suicide.
He wondered if she knew, but he didn’t dare ask—not when she was this upset over what Trevor had done by arranging their marriage without her knowledge. If it were true, then Niall had that on his conscience, too. And yet . . .
If not for what her husband had done, she wouldn’t be free again. And it might be selfish of him, but that was all that mattered to him.
Although one thing still disturbed him about her tale. “So, your husband loved you so much that he wagered everything he had to find his rival.”
“If you can call it ‘love.’ ” She wandered into the orchard, walking aimlessly among the apple trees that hung heavy with fruit. “That’s what he called it. But . . .” She shook her head. “Do you remember saying, ‘A man pursuing beauty will pay anything to gain it’? That’s how it was with him.”
He followed her into the trees. “He saw you as his Botticelli.” Who wouldn’t? Here in this verdant green, she was a succulent fruit any man would want to devour.
“A Botticelli that he’d realized he didn’t own. All that mattered was that no one else have his Botticelli.”
“I can’t say I blame him. When I heard you’d married him, I wanted to march back here and steal you away.” He gave a shuddering breath. “But then I let myself be swayed by my father’s words about your being interested in me only for my title, and I realized—or thought I realized—that you didn’t want me.”
Her eyes luminous in the shaded orchard, she halted to face him. “Your father said that about me?”
“Why do you think I called you an adventuress? Father was the first to use the term.”
She planted her hands on her hips. “Why, that . . . that . . . liar. He sounded so sympathetic to my concerns. So sincere! I believed him when he said you truly wouldn’t want me to follow you to Spain. And all the while, he was playing with us both! Toying with us! Lying to us!”
“It appears so, yes.” Niall could no longer cling to the image of his father as a man of honor who would never betray him. To do so would mean that everything she’d said was a lie, which he simply couldn’t accept.
Clearly Father had been so obsessed with protecting Clarissa that he hadn’t cared who else he hurt. Which in itself felt like a betrayal.
Niall lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “We were just too young and foolish to see past my father’s machinations to the truth.”
As he smoothed his fingers over her flawless skin, her breathing grew ragged. “I wouldn’t have listened to him at all . . . if I’d known the truth about why you dueled. He was able to persuade me precisely because you kept that secret.”
Uh-oh. He wasn’t ready to discuss that further, not until he met with Edwin.
So he did the only thing he could think of—tugged her close and kissed her the way he’d been wanting to since this morning. Deeply. Thoroughly. With tongue and teeth and all the raw, hot need churning inside him.
And for a moment she opened up to him, his lovely rose, grabbing him by the shoulders and straining against him to kiss him back, giving as good as she got.
Then she caught herself and tore her mouth free. “Niall . . . what I’m trying to say is . . . you still keep secrets from me.”
“None that matter,” he countered.
When he tried to cover her mouth with his again, she turned her head. So he shifted to kissing her jaw, her throat . . . the few bits of pure, sweet flesh that weren’t covered up by her demure carriage gown.
When he tongued the hollow of her throat, she moaned. “My husband . . . kept secrets, too. And I hated it.”
He scattered kisses over her cheeks and nose. “You kept secrets from him, as well.”
“Just the one. And I shouldn’t have. Perhaps if I’d told him about you from the beginning . . . he’d still be alive.”
“Then God forgive me,” he growled, “but I’m glad you didn’t.”
“Don’t say that.” The words were a thready whisper.
“It’s the truth.” He tightened his arm about her waist. “If he hadn’t died, I’d now be looking for a wife in society and comparing every woman to you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You thought me an adventuress. Some part of you still does, or you would tell me the tru—”
He attempted to kiss her again, but she caught his head to stay him. “My point is,” she whispered, “you know every one of my secrets, but you won’t tell me yours.”
“I will. Eventually.”
“Why not now?”
With firm purpose, he walked her backward toward an apple tree. “Because right now I want only one thing—to make love to you. To remind you that there are things between us that transcend the past. I know how to make you yearn and burn. I know how to give you pleasure.” He lowered his voice to a harsh rasp. “And you want me to. You know that you do.”
When she swallowed hard, he exulted. She wasn’t as immune to him as she tried to pretend.
“I—I said no bed play.”
“I see no bed.”
She eyed him askance. “You’re splitting hairs, you devil. You knew what I meant.” When he pressed her up against the tree, she lifted her eyes heavenward. “What is it with you and trees, anyway? My maid still hasn’t worked the stains out of the last gown you ruined. And why must we do this here, where anyone might find us?”
“Because we can,” he rasped against her lips. “Because we want to. Because I own every inch of this land, and I want to take you in the place where I mean for us to build a life together.” He dragged up her skirts. “I’ll buy you a new gown, sweeting. But all these apples hanging from the trees are making me hunger for something sweet, and I simply have to indulge.”
Even her look of confusion bewitched him. “What are you talking about?” she asked.
He dropped to his knees. “You, Bree. I want to feast on you.”
Holding her skirts bunched up at her waist with one hand, he used the other to part the opening in her drawers so he could view the lovely flesh he meant to kiss and devour. He suspected that her stodgy husband had never done this to her, and when he leaned forward to place his mouth on her and she gasped, he knew he’d guessed right.
“What the devil are you . . .” She released a shaky sigh as he licked her pretty mons, then delved deeper with his tongue. “Oh . . . my . . . word.”
God, she was as luscious and juicy as ripe fruit. He could dine on Bree for hours. Or at least long enough to show her that there was so much more to making love than her arse of a husband had shown her.
“Hold this.” He thrust her gathered skirts into her hand, and miraculously, she did his bidding.
Then he set about giving her delicious honey-pot the attention it deserved. He’d always loved the taste of a woman fully aroused, but God, Bree tasted better than anything. And she was so receptive, too, clutching at his head to hold him to her as she pushed her cleft against his tongue.
“Niall . . . heavens . . . that is so . . . so . . . naughty.”
“For my naughty wanton, yes.” He licked and teased and tormented, relishing her sighs and moans and eager little thrusts of her pelvis against his mouth. “I love when you’re naughty, sweeting.”
He thrust a finger inside her, and she murmured a soft, “How marvelous . . .” that shot his arousal to new heights. He didn’t know how he’d control himself until he’d brought her to release.
But he must. Because he refused to be the sort of selfish lover she was used to. He intended to make her blood race and her head spin, to make her forget about anything but how this felt, how they felt together.
It was the only way he could think of to reassure her that they would make a good match. That they could start again. Together. No matter what secrets he had to continue keeping.
She was panting now, making little mewling sounds that turned him harder than the trunk she leaned
against. Feeling the blood rising in his cock, he increased the strokes of his tongue across her hard little pearl as he drove into her with one finger, then two, in his desperate bid to bring her to la petite mort.
Soon she was shimmying and pushing against him like a greedy urchin eager for more, until he could hear her moaning and feel the spasms signaling her release against his tongue.
It was all he could do not to crow his triumph as she pulled him hard against her and let out a low cry of pleasure. At least he could make her feel this, damn it. Perhaps for now, that would be enough for her.
While she gasped and shuddered, he relished the taste and smell of her as he brushed kisses to her bared thighs, smoothed his hands over her silk-clad calves . . . indulged himself in the glory that was Bree’s body.
Once she calmed, he wiped his mouth on her petticoat, then rose.
“You are . . . full of . . . surprises . . .” she choked out as she clung limply to him.
He drew her arms about his neck. “You’ve scarcely seen a tenth of what I can do, my dear Lady Rebel.” He rubbed against her, knowing she could surely feel his hardened cock even through his drawers and trousers. “Shall I show you more?”
Her eyes softened, and he was sure she was about to agree to more wild and woolly swiving, when a faraway cry arrested them both.
“Lord Margrave? Are you down in the orchard?” came a voice from the top of the hill.
Bree tensed up and Niall groaned. “Don’t answer,” he ordered her. “He’ll move on.”
“But it might be important.” She fixed him with an anxious gaze. “It could have to do with Silas, who has surely been awake for some time. Or it could even concern Aunt Agatha.”
“Damnation. I can’t wait until the day I can have you to myself, whenever and wherever I please, without all these cursed interruptions.”
She shot him a sad little smile as she pushed down her skirts and straightened her clothing. “That day won’t come until Silas—and whatever other children we have—are grown and have moved away. So you’d best get used to interruptions.”
Nothing could have reminded him more effectively of how different they both were now. Although he was still a carefree bachelor, she was no longer the virginal innocent. She was a mother with responsibilities he couldn’t begin to fathom, as well as a landowner who must take care of her own people.
The Pleasures of Passion: Sinful Suitors 4 Page 19
