Hesitantly, she lifted her legs onto the bed and lay down rigidly with her head on the pillow.
Christopher drew the covers up to her chin. “Now, you may undress in perfect privacy. Unless you need me to unfasten your gown?”
“It was never properly fastened in the first place,” she confessed, “and I had no use for stays.”
His lips twitched, and she wished she had never mentioned the undergarment. He turned and sat on the bottom of the bed. “Pretend I am your maid and pass me your gown. And anything else you wish to remove.”
While she wriggled, warily removing her stockings, garters, and gown, he gazed into space as though his mind was somewhere else entirely. On his school, or Parliament, or other women…
She drew the discarded garments together and slid them up over the sheets. Solemnly, he picked up the pile and carried it to the sofa where he left it. Then he began to unbutton his coat, and she turned hastily on her side so that she could not see.
It did not stop her imagining.
She tensed as the bed creaked under his weight. He blew out the last candle, and she gazed into the darkness while he rolled and heaved himself into a comfortable position.
Into the silence, he said thoughtfully, “If you are not intrigued, you will at least not object to a goodnight kiss.”
Her breath caught. “On the contrary, I do not see the point.”
“To give me another chance to intrigue you.”
“You are foolish.”
“Is that a yes?” He loomed in the darkness, and she realized he was lying on his front and much closer than she had imagined. “I would consider it a kindness.”
Laughter hissed between her teeth. “No, you wouldn’t. Just one?”
“Just one.”
“Very well.” She knew it was insane as soon as she felt his breath on her lips. He would not take one mere kiss. As he cupped her face, she had the terrifying idea that he was completely naked, and then his mouth sank on hers and all conscious thought vanished. It was tender, yet wondrously sensual, bathing her in hopeless, delicious weakness. The butterflies in her stomach seemed to take flight, spreading bliss through her whole body.
Her arms ached to hold him, but she retained at least enough sense to understand that if she did, she was lost. So, she lay still, utterly absorbed in his kiss and in her own sweet, heavy arousal. She wanted it to go on forever, but it didn’t.
His lips left hers at last. “I don’t know about you,” he said huskily, “but I am more intrigued than ever. Good night, my wife.” And he moved away to the far side of the bed.
Her heart hammering, her body tingling with fire, she lay perfectly still. He was keeping his word, but it was several moments before she could bring herself to be grateful.
*
Fortunately, she was too exhausted to stay awake, and she fell from a wary doze into a deep, satisfying sleep. At least, she thought it was satisfying when she half-woke in the darkness to the heavy warmth of a large, male body wrapped around her back, his legs fitting around hers, his arm across her waist.
She could tell from his regular breathing that he was asleep. She thought she should probably push him away, but in fact, it felt so comfortable, so curiously…intriguing, that she merely closed her eyes once more and let herself drift back into sleep.
Until the arm at her waist tightened, wakening her fully as it drew her closer against him, against unfamiliar, hot hardness. His hand slipped upward and over her breast. The same, heavy sweetness she remembered flooded her once more with new, disturbing sharpness. She turned her head on the pillow, desperate, whispered words tumbling from her lips.
“What are you…?” But the rest was smothered in the heat of his mouth as he kissed her with wild, all-consuming urgency.
And, dear God, he was naked, for his body slid over hers, breast to breast, hip to hip, in a complete caress, and she arched up into him from blind instinct. His hand swept up her leg, beneath her rumpled chemise, and she gasped with a joy and despair that should not have been possible to feel together.
“Oh, dear God, Christopher, are you even awake?” she asked brokenly when his mouth moved down her chin to her throat.
“Of course I am,” he said huskily. “And so are you.” He kissed her mouth again before descending to her breasts in a trail of fire that made it impossible to think. His hand stroked up the inside of her thigh, and sensation exploded within her.
She caught his head between her hands. “Stop this. Stop. You don’t care who I am,” she blurted. “If I am to have nothing else from this marriage, at least leave me pride!”
He stilled, and then his hands and his lips left her. She wanted to weep as he rolled to the other side of the bed once more, but then she heard the striking of tinder, and the candle on his bedside table flared to life.
She dashed her hand across her face in case he saw the foolish tears. His eyes were still clouded by desire, but his expression was serious, almost…helpless.
“Deborah, I do not seek to destroy your pride by loving you this night.”
“This night,” she repeated. “And tomorrow night? Next week? Next month? I am not like you. I can be your best friend, but I cannot be one of many lovers.”
He stared at her, his mouth slowly twisting into a deprecating smile. “Perhaps we are more alike than you know. For what it is worth, I ended whatever trivial liaisons I had before we were married. I confess I did not enter this marriage with fidelity in mind, but that seems to be what has come to me. I don’t want other women. Only you.” His smile grew difficult. “I am impatient and urgent by nature. Forgive me.”
He turned his back and got out of bed, swiping up the candle and allowing her a glimpse of his spectacular, naked back and hips and thighs… Her mouth went dry.
Dear God, what am I doing? Am I so frightened, so pathetic that I will not take this chance for love? Have I so much stupid pride that I will make us both wait…and for what? Carpe diem. Seize the day. Seize what could be the only chance before…
“Christopher.” Her hoarse voice interrupted her own, racing thoughts.
He paused but did not turn. “You tempt me too much. I can sleep on the sofa.”
She swallowed, her heart thundering, her body aching. “Let me tempt you again.”
He turned, very slowly, and she had to lick her dry lips. She had never understood before how beautiful a man could be. For a moment, she read uncertainty in his face and found it utterly endearing.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am a coward. I am afraid to feel.”
He began to walk back toward her and set the candle back down on the nightstand. “No, you are not,” he said, sitting down on the bed. “You’re afraid of being hurt. It’s not the same thing at all. Come here.”
She sat up and wriggled toward him. Greatly daring, she raised her hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then she lifted her face and kissed his lips.
They parted under hers. She felt the touch of his tongue, the quickening of his breath, but he accepted the kiss as hers. Only when she drew back did he take hold of the hem of her chemise and pull it up from under her and over her head in one shocking, thrilling movement.
Then he took her in his arms and laid her on the bed beneath him. From the first touch, she received him eagerly, trembling from need.
With gentleness and tenderness, he taught her passion. And with increasingly wild abandon, he led her to joy.
Chapter Sixteen
Christopher woke to daylight and a feeling of massive contentment. He remembered why and was already smiling when he opened his eyes to find his wife watching him.
He had never seen anything so beautiful. But there was something both sweet and momentous about waking next to her. He had known many women and found something to value in each, but nothing and no one compared to this. Love had come quickly to him, in the end, but he knew in his heart it was no less lasting for that.
When her smile answered his, it was curiously shy,
tentative, and uncertain. He could not allow that to spoil what they had found, and so he reached for her, kissing her tenderly, but with enough passion to show her he was not abandoning her. Ever.
He loved the way she melted into his arms, his lips. Only concern for her wellbeing prevented him from taking her again before they rose.
“Do you wish to travel in the chaise with Marvin or ride with me?” he asked.
“The chaise has already gone,” she replied. “You were sleeping so peacefully, and I didn’t wake you.”
“Then we have a whole day together,” he said, enchanted at the prospect.
“Will you come down for breakfast? Or shall we have it here?”
“We had better go down,” he said reluctantly. “Otherwise, I don’t know how long I can keep my hands off you.”
She blushed adorably, tempting him all over again. He rose determinedly, loving the way her eyes followed him as he washed and dressed. It was a simple intimacy that had never been important before.
She is my wife…
He found profound new pleasure in helping her fasten her gown, brush, and pin her luxurious blond hair, which last night he had wound around his fingers in passion. Even breakfast in the busy coffee room was agreeable with her by his side. He was proud and happy in her company, bursting with energy and emotion because of last night’s love.
The journey home was delightful, too. They talked and laughed, and he learned more about her life and her thoughts. She was a perceptive and observant person and yet, as she had just shown, subject to reckless impulses.
Once, he asked, “Why did you not come to me when you thought Georgianna had gone off with Rupert? Willingly or not.”
“I suppose I was hoping I could sort it all out before anyone knew she had gone. And then I could not waste time to go back.”
“And you didn’t know if I would take Rupert’s side or Dudley’s?”
She considered it. “I don’t believe I thought about that at all.”
“Do you trust me, Deborah?”
“Yes,” she replied as though surprised by the question, which made him smile.
“Then don’t keep things from me. I think we can do better in alliance.”
She smiled, a full, brilliant smile that transformed her face to heart-stopping beauty, and he felt compelled to lean across the space between the horses and kiss her. He loved the eager response of her lips, the soft caress of her hand on his cheek.
“I am a lucky man,” he whispered.
Her eyes shone, and his heart seemed to burst with the knowledge that he made her happy.
They arrived back at Gosmere Hall before tea time. Matthew himself ran around from the stables to receive their horses and relayed the news that Marvin had arrived some two hours earlier. That was all there was time for because Dudley and his wife flew down the front steps to greet them. Inevitably, although they both smiled, they looked tense and anxious. For they could have had no idea how things stood between Christopher and Deborah if she had truly run away with Rupert or been abducted.
Christopher felt exuberant enough to pick Georgianna up and swing her around in a huge hug, but he suspected Dudley would not approve, so he merely grinned and kissed her cheek before introducing her to Deborah, his wife now in more than name.
“I can tell we are going to be great friends,” Georgianna said eagerly, with a quick, worried quirk of an eyebrow at Christopher. “Come inside, and tell us everything!”
They all repaired to the terrace room where his grandfather was already ensconced.
“Well?” Hawfield demanded, bounding to his feet, his fierce eyes jumping from Christopher to Deborah and back again. “Did you find the reprobate?”
“If you mean Rupert, yes,” Christopher replied, closing the door, “and it seems we have all been maligning him, casting his as the villain of the piece when he had no idea we were all looking for him. Deborah was afraid he had abducted Georgianna, and discovering his henchman asleep on our land, made him take her to Rupert—although with the forethought of summoning your maid, Georgianna, to add respectability and throw gossipmongers off the scent.”
“I thought it must be something like that when I heard Marvin’s story,” Georgianna said, nodding wisely. “So, when did you discover you were wrong about Rupert?”
“When I sneaked onto his ship, and Deborah was… pleased to see me,” Christopher said casually, although his heart still melted at the joy in her eyes and his fiercely possessive embrace.
“What the devil were you doing on his ship?” his grandfather demanded, staring at Deborah. He might have softened toward her, but clearly, the trust was not deeply rooted.
She said, “I thought I was passing the time until I could ride the mare home, but in fact, Rupert was keeping me out of the way of the excisemen. But, of course, Christopher did not know that. In any case, it was all a great waste of time, and I’m sorry to have worried everyone. Apart from that, the adventure was quite fun.”
“And we believe Rupert is safe,” Christopher added, “although he has left England again. Before he comes back, I want to have this murder nonsense disproved and allow him to come home.”
“And how will you do that?” his grandfather mocked. “After nearly two years? Rush up to London and start nosing into people’s business?”
“Yes,” Christopher retorted. “If necessary. In fact, I know a man who is very good at ferreting out information. If he can find what we need, then he will save me the time. I would like to take Deborah on a wedding trip before Parliament resumes.”
“What an excellent notion,” Georgianna enthused as servants began to carry in tea trays. “Dudley and I had a wonderful month in Scotland. I hope you don’t mind, Mrs. Halland, but I ordered tea before you arrived!”
“It’s most welcome,” Deborah assured her. “And I wish you will call me Deborah.”
“Then, I am Georgianna. I knew we would be friends!”
The servants laid out the little sandwiches and cakes, placed the teapot close to Deborah, and presented Christopher with a handful of mail. There was one from Gates, a couple from colleagues in London, a scented one from Marina Belham which he would rather not have received, and one addressed to Miss Deborah Shelby at her mother’s house in Coggleton.
“Someone didn’t see the notice in The Morning Post,” he observed, passing the letter to her.
“Are you sure you sent it?” she asked wryly.
“Actually, no,” he said, struck. “I remember writing it, but beyond that… I’ll make sure.”
Deborah put the letter beside her and poured the tea, which he passed to the others.
Only when they had caught up on events at Gosmere since they had left—very little although Georgianna was impressed with the salons—did Christopher open his letter from Gates, which gave him an early list of four bright boys whom he had earmarked for the school and whose parents were willing to allow the opportunity.
He glanced up to tell Deborah and found her reading her own letter. Her face was transfixed, but she did not look happy. On the contrary, a flat, stricken look in her eyes wiped the excited words from his lips.
Instead, he said, “What is it?”
Her gaze flew up to his, but almost at once, she blinked, hiding her expression beneath her lashes. She smiled brightly, folding the letter and stuffing it into the folds of her gown.
“Oh, nothing. Just trivial gossip from an old friend. What does Mr. Gates say?”
He told her and let the conversation flow from there. But he knew she was lying.
*
It was not a complete lie. It was gossip, although hardly trivial to herself, and never in a thousand years would she have called Lord Barden her friend.
His letter stunned her. It referred openly to the scandal of Connaught Place, implying without saying so, that he had caused it. This, she already knew from Hazel. But he also went on to say that it was in his power to have the newspaper recant and claim to be mistaken in listing
her presence. To this end, he would meet her at the Coggleton Arms on Monday the fifteenth of August at eleven of the clock. He advised her strongly, for her own wellbeing and that of her family and friends, to come alone and to tell no one.
To read this at all was bad enough. To discover it in company, in Christopher’s company, was unbearable. To keep this from him went against all her instincts as well as the promise she had only just made him. But Barden had already hurt her and three other innocent, decent women, for no good reason. Lucy had already suffered in the wake of that. She could not allow him to hurt Christopher or her family any further. She had to speak to Barden before she could make such a decision.
And so, she pretended all was well and felt her soul shrivel because Christopher knew she was lying.
Somehow, she got through the ritual of tea, went to inspect the work that had gone on without her, and finally escaped to her own bedchamber, where she ordered the luxury of a hot bath.
There, soaking in the warm, scented water, she felt the aches of two day’s riding ease. As she began to relax, she accepted there was nothing she could do about the Barden matter until Monday, so there was no point in worrying. On the other hand, she also had to keep it from Christopher until then, and the knot of that refused to unwind in the steam.
When she had left Gosmere yesterday, she had never expected to return with such happiness. She did not know if Christopher loved her as she loved him, but he did care, and she had the chance to win him completely. Keeping things from him was hardly the way to his heart or to her own comfort. However, she could not risk his wellbeing or anyone else’s for her own comfort. Until Monday, she would have to maintain a certain distance while still assuring him of her affection…
Of course, she had not said the words. She had not told him she loved him. To tell him now seemed wrong, like pulling the wool over his eyes so that she could meet Barden in secret. Everything else depended on Barden.
As the water began to cool, she climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in the large towel Anne had left on the nearby chair. Rubbing her hair with the smaller one, she wandered into the bedchamber. A sound in the outer sitting room took her to the door.
Married to the Rogue Page 18
