Drawing back, he pressed his forehead to hers. “You make me forget myself.”
Which seemed a lovely compliment indeed. “The fog is creating a chill. Would you like to come inside?”
Leaning away, he touched his knuckles to her cheek. “If I come inside, Gillie, we’re going to do a good deal more than kiss.”
She knew that, of course. She needed to reassure him that she did, but the tongue that had been working so well during their kiss suddenly seemed too weary to form another coherent word.
“Let’s get you inside,” he said. She didn’t hear disappointment in his voice, but rather understanding. He knew she had trepidations, had never gone this far with a man.
She wanted what he was offering, and yet she couldn’t quite divest herself of all the warnings that had been preached at her over the years, Beast’s the loudest of all: Take care with your heart. If Thorne came into her apartment, her heart would definitely be at risk.
He stood and pulled her to her feet. “I’m a patient man,” he said.
He unlocked her door, opened it, and bussed a quick kiss over her swollen lips before giving her a nudge indoors. She was even slower to turn the lock than she’d been the night before, but turn it she did, eventually.
And later, lay in bed, staring at the shadows dancing over the ceiling, wishing she hadn’t.
Chapter 19
“Caw, blimey! Look at his neck, Gillie. It’s the longest ever!”
She certainly couldn’t argue with Robin’s comment regarding the giraffe. He’d made some keen observation about every animal they’d seen thus far, while she’d barely noticed them because her hand was tucked snugly within the crook of Thorne’s arm, his other hand resting on it as though he intended to keep it there until the end of time.
He was without his walking stick, his limp negligible. If her eyes didn’t fairly devour him every time he made an appearance in her life, she might not have noticed the limp at all, but from the moment she’d turned to find him stretched out on her table in the buff, not the smallest detail about him had gone unobserved. So she knew his hair had been trimmed and a razor recently taken to his face. She was also fairly certain his dark blue jacket and silver brocade waistcoat were recently purchased. The material of both was too bold and bright to have seen the wash even once. His gray neck cloth was knotted in a way that had it flowing into and behind the waistcoat with a single red teardrop pin to hold it in place. His beaver hat was not new, but he looked dapper just the same.
Her clothing from the pale blue blouse to the dark blue skirt and all the silk and lace that resided beneath it was new. She’d spent the afternoon before visiting a dress shop where she had once threatened to geld the former troublesome shop owner if he continued to insist the monthly rent was accompanied by more intimate favors. As Ettie Trewlove had given birth to a daughter out of wedlock due to the manner in which a nefarious landlord collected his rent, her brothers were always keen to put the fear of Trewlove retribution into those who took advantage. After a visit from them, the landlord had decided it was in his best interest to sell the shop to the dressmaker. Hence, the woman had been only too willing to ensure Gillie had something new to wear on her outing. It wasn’t fancy, lacking ribbons and bows, but not a single spot on it was frayed or worn. Thorne had seemed to notice, which pleased her.
Then he had handed her a slim box, and inside she’d found the finest pair of kidskin gloves she’d ever seen. She never thought to wear gloves, but of course a lady on an outing with a gentleman needed to ensure her skin never touched his. While she’d considered the gift too personal, she’d not been able to refuse it. Although now she did regret more material separated the heat of his hand from hers.
He’d brought a gift for Robin as well and it had touched her heart more than the gloves: a miniature walking stick that was a duplicate of his, perfectly sized for Robin’s height. The lad strutted about with it and used it to point at things. Like the giraffe.
“It has to take forever for the food to get into its belly,” he said now.
“I suspect so,” Thorne said.
“I would like to have one.” He gave Thorne a hopeful look as though he expected him to purchase it.
“Where would it sleep, lad?”
Robin scrunched up his face as though it were a serious question and if he determined the answer he would find himself the owner of a gigantic giraffe.
“These aren’t for sale, Robin,” Gillie told him. “They’re simply to gaze upon, admire, and appreciate.”
With a nod, he carried on, making his way to the next enclosure. Each creature they viewed fascinated him, while she was fascinated with the man walking beside her. He exhibited extreme patience dealing with the boy, which resulted in Robin listening intently to instructions and following them: no darting off, no picking of pockets, no trying to frighten the animals. They were to be respected.
“Before your father took ill, did he bring you here?” she asked.
“No. On occasion we would fish in the pond on the estate. He took me hunting once, but pleasant memories of him are few.”
“You mentioned that you were fifteen when he passed, which made you a rather young duke.”
“Rather. I went a bit wild for a while, angry with him, furious in fact. It didn’t help that my mother never had a kind word to say about him.” He chuckled darkly. “Theirs was not a love match, but she brought land with her. Every wife of every duke brought land with her. I think the ultimate goal of the dukedom is to own as much of England as possible.”
“So now you will seek out another woman with land.”
“I suppose I shall. It is the only way to make my father proud. Strange to seek that approval even after he’s gone.”
“I think that’s natural. I don’t even know who my parents are, but I like to imagine that somehow they know I’ve made a successful go of things.”
“I hope they do know, that perhaps they watched from afar. The princess and her guard.”
She felt the heat suffuse her face. “I should not have told you about the musings of a silly young girl.”
“Not silly, Gillie. I don’t think it’s uncommon for us to imagine ourselves with different lives when we’re young. I sometimes wished my parents were other than they were.”
For his sake, she wished they had been. She’d always assumed those of the aristocracy lived without challenges, but it seemed no one was spared some sort of trial. She suspected if she traded places with some noblewoman that she’d find herself wishing she was back in Whitechapel right quick.
“Caw! Blimey! Look! It’s a zebra,” Robin called out.
They picked up their pace, quickly approaching the enclosure where the lad was hopping from foot to foot, until they could see the brown-and-white striped horse. Although only her head and shoulders were striped. The remainder of her was just brown.
“Actually that’s not a zebra,” Thorne said quietly. “A zebra has stripes all over it. This is a quagga.”
Robin laughed. “That’s a funny name.”
“It’s named after the sound it makes, and this is a very rare creature. Only a few remain in the world. Some speculate that this is the last one the zoological gardens will ever have.”
“Why?” Robin asked. She doubted he understood the term speculate but he was quite versed in the term last.
“Because so few remain,” Thorne said solemnly, “and they’re having no luck breeding them. You may be one of the last people to ever see one.”
Robin blinked, blinked, blinked. “That’s not right.” He pressed his mouth into a determined firm line. “When I grow up, I’m goin’ to find more of ’em.”
“I hope you do, lad.”
Robin eased up to the metal bars and stuck his hand through a pair. The quagga approached, nuzzled his hand. Robin petted her.
“He won’t find any, will he?” Gillie asked somberly.
“No. I fear it’s too late for us to do much of anything for them.�
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“So they’ll go the way of the unicorn?”
He looked over at her. “Yes, I suppose they will.”
She felt a profound sadness. “I always thought I was being fanciful believing unicorns had once existed, but it is possible, isn’t it?”
“It is indeed.”
“If I should ever open another tavern, I believe I shall name it the Quagga, to honor this little lady.”
They rode an elephant and a camel. They had a picnic in a nearby park. As they journeyed in the duke’s carriage back to Whitechapel, Robin curled against Thorne’s side and slept. Gillie found herself wishing she was by his side, instead of sitting opposite him as was proper.
During their outing she’d begun to realize she was falling in love with him, a silly and reckless thing to do, not that her heart seemed to care. She was grateful her days of having fanciful thoughts were behind her, and that she had a more realistic view of the world now. A duke wouldn’t marry a commoner from Whitechapel, and while this particular duke wanted land and property, he wanted a good deal more than her small tavern would provide. If anything more happened between them, it wouldn’t lead to marriage, although she suspected at some point it would lead to heartache. She wouldn’t continue to see him after he married.
When they reached the tavern, rather than going on his merry way, he followed her and Robin in. She had considered not working, taking a little more time to be with him, maybe taking a stroll without their small chaperone in tow, but business was brisk and one of her barmen hadn’t shown up for work. His wife had sent word he had a stomach upset. She couldn’t leave Roger to manage on his own.
“Tell me what to do,” Thorne said, still by her side.
She furrowed her brow at him. “Climb into your carriage and go home.”
Tucking his forefinger beneath her chin, looking at her so tenderly—she did wish he wouldn’t do that as it sent all sorts of tingling sensations and warmth rioting through her—he said, “No, how do I help? You’re short on staff and have a full house and darkness has yet to fall. You’ll get even busier then if what I’ve observed on prior visits is any indication. I can pour a pint.”
“You’re offering to pitch in?”
“Don’t look so shocked. I’m not totally devoid of skills or consider myself above helping when help is needed.”
“No, of course you’re not.” She’d known that, of course. “Yes, I’d welcome your assistance.”
It turned out he was not only skilled at pouring a pint but at carrying on conversations with those who wandered over to the bar—or more precisely he was skilled at listening, expressing sympathy at their troubles.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d hidden away a dream of sharing this place with a gent, but tonight she faced the bittersweet memory. Whenever he passed by her, he laid a hand on the small of her back or her shoulder. Sometimes when she was pouring a drink, she would glance over to see him watching her with a secretive smile as though he took pleasure from her nearness or was considering doing wicked things with her when they closed up for the night. She was certainly thinking about doing wicked things with him.
Perhaps it was because they’d been together most of the day, or the small kindnesses he’d shown to Robin, or the fact he’d stepped up when it was needed, without complaint, but after they’d closed up for the night and he escorted her to the top of the stairs, she didn’t lower herself to the landing. Instead she walked straight to the door.
“You’re not going to take a moment to absorb the quiet, to relax?” he asked.
Only after unlocking the door and pushing it open, did she turn to face him. “No. Tonight I have something else in mind. Come inside.”
“Gillie—”
“I know. I know what will happen. And I want it to. It’s my choice and now it’s yours. Either go down the stairs or follow me in.”
She walked into her apartment and stopped, glancing around, knowing that after tonight nothing in here would ever look the same to her, because everything would carry the memory of this night. The few trinkets, the books, the furniture, they would all bear witness to what was about to transpire. Yet even knowing everything would change, she would change, she couldn’t seem to not be glad for the clack of the door closing, the snick of the lock being turned, the click of his footsteps as he neared.
His hands closed over her shoulders, his mouth pressed against her nape. “I like that I don’t have to move your hair aside to appreciate the long slope of your neck. It’s as graceful as a swan’s.”
Closing her eyes, she relished the heat of his open mouth again touching her nape, aware dew was collecting, warming her even more. “Not quite as long,” she said on a breathy sigh that hardly sounded like her.
“No. Not quite as long.” He moved his mouth to the other side of her spine, gave the sensitive skin there some attention. “I want to wash your back, Gillie.”
Her eyes sprung open. “Now?”
“Yes. I’ve dreamed of doing so every night since the one when you turned me away.”
“I wasn’t turning you away—” She swung around. How to explain?
“I know. You didn’t trust me.”
“I didn’t trust me. When I fell asleep, I had this dream, you see . . .” She let her voice trail off.
“Of me bathing you?”
She shook her head. “Of my leaving the tub and sitting on your lap, naked.”
He grinned. “Oh, I very much like that dream. Was I naked as well?”
“No, at least not yet.” She was blushing again, she knew it. “I think you might have gotten there if you hadn’t woken me up.”
“Bad timing then on my part. Perhaps we’ll turn your dream into reality.” He skimmed his fingers along her cheek. “Let me bathe you, princess.”
“It seems a bit decadent.”
“Decadent things are all we’re going to do tonight.”
A shaky shudder escaped as she wound her arms around his neck. “Only if I can bathe you as well. All of you.” She hoped her smile was as saucy as it felt. “I didn’t wash all of you before.”
“You are timid and bold, and I adore both aspects of you.”
Her chest grew so tight she thought it might squeeze her heart until it burst. No man had ever adored her. No, he didn’t adore her. He adored her timidity and her boldness. Then he took her mouth as though to prove his point, and she could not help but believe that he did in fact adore the entirety of her. Otherwise, how could he stir such sweet sensations within her with so little effort?
His arms came around her, pressing her up against the length of his long, lean body. It felt so marvelous, so right as her breasts strained to be even closer, as her legs wanted to spread wide and cradle him so he was nestled against their sweet juncture where an ache had erupted with a force that nearly dropped her to her knees. She needed this man, needed him desperately.
His hands caressed her back, her hips, her bum, and she hated every stitch of clothing she wore that prevented her from feeling his skin against hers.
Breaking off the kiss, breathing heavily, he held her gaze. “Bath?”
She nodded. “Bath.”
He dispensed with his coat, waistcoat, and neck cloth, tossing each negligently onto a nearby chair, rolled up his sleeves, and together they worked to prepare the bath. A low fire burned in the hearth and steam rose from the water. A lamp on a table by the bed provided the only other light.
He approached her very slowly, reminding her of the tiger they’d seen that afternoon: long, sleek, predatory. The look he gave her from behind half-lowered lids should not have made her tingle all over, should not have made her want to thrust up her breasts and beg him to suckle them. She imagined all the things he could do with that lovely mouth of his.
He stopped in front of her and skimmed the back of his knuckles over her chin. “Do you want me to tell you everything I’m going to do or just do it?”
“Simply do it, and quickly. I feel as though I�
��m on the verge of dying here.”
He chuckled low, darkly. “Oh, princess, I haven’t even begun to make you feel as though you’re on the verge of dying.”
Lowering his hands, he rubbed his knuckles over her breasts. She’d thought the nipples were already hard, but they hardened further, became tight little balls that seemed to be tethered to her nether regions. She wished she were again wearing trousers and could rub against the seam, for she was in need of some sort of surcease.
“Dear God, you’re like kindling, aren’t you? The lightest of touches and you burn.”
“You’re a powerful match.”
He laughed. “Not certain I’ve ever been called that before.”
“I don’t know how to do this, Thorne. How to be clever and witty and seductive.”
“Sweetheart, you seduced me long ago.”
His words were true, not meant to be flirtatious, not intended to woo. Simply to be honest. He wasn’t certain precisely when she’d seduced him, but she’d managed to do it without airs or heaping praises on him, without coy looks, or batting eyelashes, or pouting lips. She’d done it with her forthrightness that was more seductive and alluring than all the coquettish flirtations cast his way by others.
She possessed a bit of whimsy with her mermaids and unicorns, but she was also steel and determination, running her business in a manner destined to ensure it met with success. Decisions were based on a goal. Although he suspected tonight’s choice had been influenced by the whimsical side of her.
As much as he hated it, he knew there could never be more between them than this. If he were the decent sort he’d walk out. Only no woman had ever looked at him as she did, and he doubted one ever would again. A man was fortunate if once in his life a woman made him feel as though he were a king. She made him feel as though he were so much more.
When a Duke Loves a Woman Page 22
