An Invitation to Seduction (23 page)

Opening his eyes, he downed the remainder of his bourbon. Betraying either loyalty or love would be a form of cheating. He was not a man who cheated.

He would exorcise Farthingham from her heart. He would do so with his skills and his devotion, not by being disloyal to Farthingham. She need never know the truth about Farthingham or his death. The truth would accomplish nothing, except to bruise her heart.

And he loved her too much to risk that outcome, would do anything to ensure her happiness. He could only hope that in time, she would come to love him. And to that end, he would apply himself diligently.

He rose from the chair. She was preparing herself for him. It was time he went about preparing himself. He would sway her heart, and he would do it without revealing Farthingham’s secrets.

K
itty awoke to a featherlike touch along her chin that trailed up to circle her ear, followed by a gentle nibbling of her lobe and warm breath wafting over her neck. She opened her eyes. It was still night. The room was dimly lit by the gaslight she’d left on so she wouldn’t fall asleep while waiting for her husband. Seemingly she had done so anyway.

Raised up on an elbow, he was stretched out alongside her, enticing her out of lethargy with slow, light caresses. He smiled down on her, a smile of amusement and contentment. Although she was certain he wouldn’t appreciate her description, she thought it was a very sweet smile.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For falling asleep while I was waiting for you.”

“Kitty, you must learn to stop apologizing to me. There is very little you would do that would require an apology to me.” With his finger, he outlined her face.
“You cannot imagine how often I’ve thought about having you in my bed.”

She swallowed hard, her breath backing up in her lungs, as his finger journeyed along her throat and down to the first button of her nightgown. With little more than a quick flick, the button was free of its constraint, and he moved on to the next one, the next one, the next one…his gaze never straying from the slight parting of the material.

And with each button’s release, it seemed her inhibitions escaped the restraints she’d placed on them. Although the blankets were bunched at his waist, and she had no memory of his slipping in beside her, she knew he wore no clothing. Her mouth grew dry with the thought of where all this was leading and how desperately she sought the journey.

With the last button freed, he slid his heated gaze up to hers for a mere heartbeat before turning his attention back to the task at hand. He snagged the corner of the opening and slowly peeled back the cloth, one side, then the other, his breathing growing harsher. She thought perhaps she should have felt a need to cover herself, yet she’d been revealed to him before, and she was mesmerized by the reverence with which he gazed on her, as though he’d never seen anything quite as humbling.

He cradled one breast, his eyes fluttered closed, long lashes resting on his cheeks, and he lowered his head.

The first gentle tug almost had her coming off the bed for the sensations he sent surging through her, as though they’d been previously corralled and suddenly unleashed. A tiny whimper escaped as she rolled toward him and threaded her fingers through his hair. Now that she was married, she’d expected the fire to abate, had thought marriage would somehow calm the storm that always
seemed to swirl around her whenever he touched her, whenever he kissed her.

But there was no abatement. Instead it seemed as though with the exchange of vows, her body welcomed the pleasures that marriage would bring. And she could not deny that the pleasures were many, already mounting, spiraling, climbing to new heights as his breathing grew harsher and he greedily kissed her breasts, nipples, the valley between, her collarbone, her throat, her neck…her.

The kiss was deep, powerful, hungry. Lips locked as though forever joined, body to soul, soul to heart. As though this night, their bodies would exchange vows as permanent as those they’d spoken earlier.

Without unlatching his mouth, he shifted and slid his arms beneath her, around her, pulling them both up into a sitting position. His mouth sojourned along her throat while his hands pulled her gown off her shoulders until it pooled around her hips. He kissed the top of her shoulder, the back of her shoulder, the curve at the side of her neck, a breast, a rib, her stomach, her hip. Working the gown past her hips, thighs, calves, feet. He tossed it aside and skimmed his hands up the length of her legs and back down. Then his mouth was following the paths his hands had forged, first one side, then the other.

She watched in amazement as the muscles in his back bunched and tightened with his movements. She skimmed her hands over the firmness of his back, desperate to give, afraid to give, not certain what was acceptable and what was wanton.

How did a lady not behave as a whore when she desired all that he was offering?

He returned his mouth to hers, and in the process eased her back down on the bed until her head touched the pillow. She could hardly think from the sensations
building within her. Flesh to flesh, hip to hip, chest to breasts. His hands and lips roamed over her entire body, from forehead to toes, from heel to nape, turning her for easier access for each spot he wished to torment.

And it was torment. Sweet, sweet torment. Hot and blissful. Decadent and pure. How could it be the best and worst of all things? How did he manage to make her yearn for his every touch?

Then he was nestled between her thighs, easing himself inside her, withdrawing only to return with a more forceful push, again and again until her body drew him all in and closed tightly around him.

Raising himself over her, he began to rock against her, each movement increasing the pleasure, increasing the pressure and the tension until she was writhing beneath him and screaming out for release.

Glorious release that arrived with a myriad of colorful stars behind her lowered eyelids, and the arching of her back, and a final cry that was almost drowned out by his deep groan of satisfaction as he drove into her one last time.

Panting and with weary limbs that she thought she might never again move, she lay beneath him, staring at his bent head, the dampness on his shoulders, aware of the trembling in his arms as he fought to keep his weight off her, and his short gasps that slowly began to lengthen.

He eased off her, barely distancing himself enough so that he didn’t squash her before he dropped onto his stomach beside her, his heavy arm angled across her stomach, his fingers curled possessively over her hip.

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and there his mouth remained. Only after she recognized that his breathing had evened out, did she realize that he’d fallen asleep.

She stared at the length of him sprawled beside her, the manner in which the dew, caught by the lamplight, glis
tened over his back and buttocks, much as the sea and sun had that first morning she’d spotted him. She didn’t like admitting that she still considered him magnificent. That experiencing the full measure of his power satisfied her even as it left her clamoring for more.

He looked near to death. If his warm breath wasn’t skimming along her arm, she might have thought he was indeed dead. She wondered if she could lure him out of his lethargy as he’d lured her. And even as the thought took hold, she shoved it away.

A lady shouldn’t be wanton, screaming like a savage. Here she was contemplating waking him when she had no idea how she’d face him once he was awake.

Richard awoke to the musky scent of sex filling his nostrils, Kitty’s screams still echoing in his ears, and his body so sated that he thought he might never again move. And he might have followed his first inclination had he not gradually come to realize that no other warmth existed beyond his. He was alone in the bed.

His heart thundering, he bolted upright and twisted around. His heart quieted as he caught sight of Kitty’s profile. She sat curled, her feet tucked beneath her, in one of two chairs positioned before the fireplace. She was again wearing her nightgown. A pity that. Although in retrospect, he’d enjoyed removing it the first time. He’d enjoy removing it the second, although he thought he might move with a bit more speed the next go-round.

He snatched up his silken robe from the foot of the bed where he’d discarded it earlier, before he’d slipped beneath the covers to be with her. He’d watched her for long moments before he’d finally undertaken the joyous task of waking her.

As he belted his robe, he walked toward her, his bare
feet making no sound over the thick carpets. If she’d heard him get out of bed or was aware of his approach, she gave no indication. As he neared, he saw the last thing he’d expected, the very last thing he’d wanted to see: tears dampening her cheeks. Based on her heartbreakingly sad expression, he knew they weren’t tears of joy or jubilation, but rather disappointment, perhaps regret.

With a despairing heart and the realization that perhaps he’d been arrogant to believe he could bring her happiness, he knelt before her. “Kitty?”

Without looking at him, she shook her head. “You can’t fathom how much I didn’t want this.”

He thought his heart might shrivel into nothing. “So you’ve said before.”

With imploring eyes flooding with fresh tears, she looked at him and rasped, “I’m exactly like my mother, and I tried so hard not to be.”

She pressed a hand to her mouth, muffling her sob. Richard was having another of those moments where he felt densely slow. “Why ever would you not want to be like her? Your mother is the most gracious, elegant—”

“No.” She shook her head sadly. “Madeline Robertson is the mother of my heart. Jessye Bainbridge is the mother of my body, and my body”—she swallowed hard and wiped the sleeve of her nightgown beneath her nose—“my body cries out to be like hers: common and coarse. A saloonkeeper’s daughter, she relished a man’s touch, gave birth to me out of wedlock, and passed me off to the first couple who came within sight of her. And here I am no different. When this child is born, all of England will know we fornicated without benefit of marriage.”

“You’re adopted?” It was a silly thing to take note of, to respond to, considering all she’d revealed.

She nodded. “A bastard. Illegitimate. People of that ilk aren’t well thought of over here, are they?”

“They can’t inherit,” he said inanely as though that were important when he was really striving to wrap his mind around the implications that he’d taken as his wife a woman of tainted bloodlines. He could trace his heritage back generations, recorded by births, deaths, and yes, marriage licenses. “Did Farthingham know?”

She laughed almost hysterically and shook her head. “Of course not. Why would I reveal my shame to him, to anyone? I’m only telling you because the evidence of my common roots is apparent every time you touch me. I writhe and scream as though I’m an uncivilized barbarian. My behavior is disgusting. I don’t know how you tolerate me.”

He sat back on his heels, so stunned by her comment that he was speechless. If he opened his mouth at all, he feared he might laugh. She was sitting, curled in the chair, her arms held tightly against her, tears on her face because she thought he found her reaction to his touch disgusting? When in fact he relished every aspect of it.

“Kitty—” A burst of laughter escaped, and he clamped his mouth shut.

“It’s not funny.”

He cleared his throat, swallowed, and cleared his throat again. “I realize that.” Another sound clearing of his throat. “Kitty, I tolerate it because I love you, and besides—”

“No.” She shook her head. “No one should have to tolerate dealing with that sort of behavior. Regardless of any affection they might hold for that person. I’ve been thinking that if you were to gag me and tie me to the bedposts, then I wouldn’t thrash about, and I’d be unable to scream.”

He fought a valiant fight, but in the end the laughter won, a resounding rumble that echoed around them.

She slapped his shoulder. “Stop laughing!”

But he only laughed harder. “Oh, dear Lord, you’re deadly serious.”

“Yes!” She launched out of the chair and began hitting his shoulders. “Stop it! Stop it!”

He grabbed her flailing hands, twisted her about as gently as possible, always mindful of her delicate condition, until she was on her back, pinned beneath his weight, her arms held in place above her head, one of his hands wrapped around both her wrists. They breathed in tandem, each harsh breath causing her breasts and his chest to touch.

“I’m sorry, Kitty. I know I shouldn’t have laughed. Your circumstance isn’t funny, and I need”—he cleared his throat and swallowed back the laughter that wanted freedom—“to treat this matter with the seriousness it deserves.” With his thumb, he gathered the tears that rolled along her cheeks. “That night in Farthingham’s garden, you said that I terrified you. Was it because of the way you felt when I touched you?”

She nodded, then shook her head as more tears surfaced. “Not only that. You have but to look at me…or be in the same room with me.” She shook her head more vigorously. “No, not even that. When I’m alone in my room, I think of you constantly. As you were that first morning.”

Wasn’t that interesting?

He trailed his finger along her jaw.

“Don’t do that!” she ordered.

“Does it make you want to scream?”

“Yes!”

“Farthingham never made you want to scream, did he?”

“Of course not. Nicky was safe. He was always safe.”

Speaking of barbarism, he suddenly felt like some tribal lord who’d gained a kingdom. And for the first time since the afternoon of the storm, he felt a lifting of
the oppressive guilt. He’d been right all along. She did belong to him. She might not like it, she might not want to admit it, but her body knew what her heart refused to acknowledge.

“I’m not going to gag you, Kitty,” he said quietly, before pressing a kiss against the sensitive spot beneath her ear. He heard her sharp intake of breath. “And I’m not going to bind you.” He moved his mouth to the other side and kissed her there. Another gasp. “Do you know why?”

She shook her head.

He lifted his own and looked down on her. She’d turned her face to the side, but he could still see that she was miserable. “Look at me, Kitty.”

“No.”

“Kitty.”

She finally looked back at him. He released his hold on her wrists, framed her face with his hands, and caressed her cheeks with his fingertips. “I’m not going to do anything that you’ve asked, because I so enjoy hearing you scream.”

“But it’s barbaric.”

“Ah, yes. So it is.” He kissed her chin. “Sometime I want you to tell me all the things you thought when you were alone in your room.”

“No.”

“Yes. Meanwhile I intend to make you scream again.”

He lowered his head. She grabbed his hair and jerked his head back up. “Please don’t. It’s embarrassing.”