Captive (29 page)

“By what magic incantation did you persuade him to speak, when Percy said the servants had refused to say a word?”

“Oh, I didn’t do it, Sally did.”

“Sally?”

“Alice’s maid. My new maid. You know, the one in the family way.”

“
Alice’s
maid has been working in my house?” Denbigh said in a strangled voice.

“And doing a very good job, I might add,”
Charlotte said, ignoring his look of horrified shock. “In fact, it’s because of Sally that I’m here tonight. Or rather, this morning, since it is past midnight.”

“Nearly dawn,” he corrected.

“Hardly worth getting two rooms, if you think about it,” Charlotte said. “We won’t get a wink of sleep before it is time to get up again.”

Denbigh knew she could not know how provocative her speech was, and he could not correct her without telling her so. He shoved the picture of her in bed with him out of his mind and said, “Why is Sally the reason you’re here?”

“Because she knew the rest of the information contained in the note you found in Alice’s room … the part that was burned away.”

Denbigh stiffened. “Sally could not know what was on that note. She cannot read.”

“Alice read it to her.” Charlotte paused and said, “The part where she wrote that Lord James came into her room one night at a house party and mistook her for another woman and raped her.”

Denbigh felt the blood leave his face. He had never suspected. Never imagined anything so horrible. Poor Alice!

Charlotte inched up onto her knees and put her hands on his shoulders. “Lady Alice didn’t betray you, Lion. She loved you, just as you believed she did. She went to Lord James when she found out she was with child, but he would not marry her.

“She thought of marrying you anyway, but she didn’t want you to be forced to raise another man’s child as your own.”

“I would not have cared!”

“Even if it were a boy? Even if some other man’s child were your heir?” she asked with brutal frankness.

“Alice should have told me. She should have given me the choice.” He shoved a hand through his hair and paced away toward the window.

“Would you have married her?”

He turned to face her. “I don’t know what I would have done. But at least she could have gone away and had the child. She did not have to kill herself.”

“Can you forgive her?”

“I don’t know. From what you have told me, James Somers was guilty of more than merely seducing my bride. For the past year since I killed him, I have spent a great many hours regretting his death at such a young age. I will do so no more.”

Denbigh did not know when his hands had come to rest on Charlotte’s waist, but he saw they were. She had scooted closer to him on the bed, so their bodies were a mere inch apart. It would not take much to pull her close. Or to lay her down on the bed beneath him.

“Will you let Livy marry Braddock now?” Charlotte asked.

“That depends on Braddock.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe I can forgive Alice for killing herself and forgive myself for James Somers’s death. The question is whether Braddock can ever overlook the fact his future brother-in-law killed his brother.”

“I see,” Charlotte mused. “But if he could not, why would he have taken a special license with him when he left town with Livy?”

“Did he?” Denbigh asked, surprised.

“Oh, yes,” Charlotte said. “Rufus said when the duke left, he was carrying a special license in his pocket.”

“I don’t know,” Denbigh said. “Maybe he had not yet made up his mind what he wanted to do.”

“When will we know?” Charlotte asked.

“When he shows up tomorrow morning,” Denbigh said in a hollow voice. “Or when he does not.”

She tightened her arms around his neck—how had they gotten there?—and laid her body against his.

“No, Charlotte,” he said.

“I … I want to.”

“To what?” he said in a harsh voice.

“Make love with you.”

“Without benefit of marriage? Without any vows of love between us?”

“That can wait.”

“Until when?”

“Whenever we get around to it.”

Denbigh had never done anything in his life as difficult as pulling Charlotte’s arms from around his neck and taking a step back from her. One look at her face, and he knew he had done the wrong thing. Again. There was no way she could understand why he did not want to make love with her here. Like this. Right now.

And though he opened his mouth to try and explain, she never gave him the chance. She clambered off the bed, ran through the connecting door and slammed it shut behind her.

The last thing he heard was the key turning in the lock behind her.

Damn and blast. Why wasn’t anything ever easy with Charlotte?

Braddock lay beside Olivia in the large, comfortable bed at his hunting box in Somersville and watched her sleep. She trusted him implicitly. He had not yet decided whether he would betray that trust.

Had he ever thought her plain? He wondered how that was possible. As they had driven away from London, her hazel eyes had become progressively more bright, until they were almost a tawny gold. Her smile had relaxed until the corners of her lips turned up like a satisfied cat’s. She had sat serenely, head bowed, while he had taken the pins from her hair himself. It had cascaded in silken waves all the way to her waist.

It had not been difficult to seduce her. Once she had made the decision to come with him, she had
gladly participated in whatever he asked of her in the carriage.

“Lift your arms above your head, Livy,” he had said.

She arched her brows in curiosity, but did as he bid her. While she was thus defenseless, he cupped her breasts with both hands, brushing his thumbs across the crests. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from crying out, but even so, she made a sound in her throat that caused his body to draw up tight with pleasure.

“Put your hands on my shoulders, Livy,” he whispered in her ear.

And she had.

Of her own accord, one of her hands had sifted up into his hair, while the other traced the shape of his shoulder.

And all the while he had been pressing his lips to hers, testing their softness, and probing the closed seam of her lips with his tongue.

“Open up and let me in, Livy,” he had said.

And she did.

Her mouth opened, and he thrust inside, claiming her with his lips and teeth and tongue. She moaned into his mouth, and his body surged with such pleasure that for long moments, he could not form a coherent thought.

“Undress me, Livy,” he commanded her.

Her eyes went wide with surprise. Then absorption. And eventually, delight.

“I have wanted to touch you,” she admitted shyly, when she had his shirt unbuttoned. She traced his ribs, and the muscles along his belly, and even played with the dark nipples that budded beneath her touch.

Reeve had never been so moved by anything in his life.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his skin, and he felt his heart begin to thud. She used her mouth to taste him, to caress him, to revere him.

Reeve had never known a woman could want a man as she wanted him. He should have felt triumphant.

He felt humbled. And ashamed.

He might have stopped his seduction. He might have returned her to London untouched. If she had not sent her hand downward. If she had not traced the male part of him and looked up at him and said, “What does it feel like for you to be inside a woman? I have always wondered. And what will it feel like when you are inside of me?”

He had taken his time making her ready for him. She had been nervous. And frightened. He had settled her on his lap facing him on the seat and played with her under her skirt until she was wet and slick
and undulated against him when his fingers slid inside her.

Her eyes were glazed and full of joy.

“Are you sure?” he had asked. “Do you want me?” he had asked.

“Very sure,” she had said. “Very much,” she had said.

He had explained what he was going to do, and that it might hurt, and that she should be ready for the pain.

He saw the fear in her eyes. And the determination to endure it.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked as he pressed himself inside her slowly.

“No,” she said. But she bit her lip, and tears sprang to her eyes.

In the end, it had not been possible to go slow. The membrane was too thick to be easily broken, and he was afraid if he did not do it quickly, he would not do it at all.

She cried out, and he caught the sound with his mouth, as gravity helped her slide down until she was full of him.

He held her close and very still against his body, so close he could hear the frantic, hummingbird wing-beat of her heart. And feel the tenseness of the muscles in her legs.

“Is your leg hurting you?” he asked.

“A little,” she admitted.

He lifted her, and moved her knee forward until her hip was in a more comfortable position. “Better?” he asked.

He could tell from the way she relaxed against him that the pain was gone. All the pain.

He moved slowly inside her, taking his time, letting the rocking carriage do some of the work for him. He suckled her breasts, round and beautifully formed, and let her suckle him, something he had allowed no other woman to do.

But she had asked if he would like it. And he had said yes.

And he had.

He had felt her excitement and confusion as her body moved toward its climax. Felt the tension and the delight and the fear all wrapped up together. Seen the wonder in her eyes. And the gratitude.

It was the gratitude that had made him close his eyes and find her mouth with his and ravish it.

She had not minded. She had kissed him right back.

He had held her buttocks in his hands, lifting her, thrusting with his hips, and she had rocked up and down on him, searching for the pleasure he could give her.

Until he had come inside her, and she had trembled with joy and cried out his name.

“Reeve. Reeve,” she rasped. “I love you. I love you.”

Then she had fallen asleep in his arms.

She had been embarrassed when she woke up and discovered he was completely dressed again, while she was lying in his lap with her bodice bunched at her waist. He had smiled at her pinkened cheeks and dipped his mouth to kiss her pebbled nipples. And soon he had been inside her again.

He’d had her again when they arrived at the hunting box. And again not more than an hour ago. He had been watching her sleep ever since.

She had not demanded that he stop at the church and marry her. She had not asked when they would go see the vicar. She had not even asked where they were, and she must know this was not his home.

She had not asked anything of him, except that he love her. And let her love him.

He had told her what was necessary to get her to come with him. He had told her he wanted to marry her. He might even have said that he loved her. He could not remember. He had been a little foxed.

He had not realized he could sink so low. He had not realized he could hate so much. But he hated Denbigh, and he wanted to hurt him. Seducing Denbigh’s sister had seemed the best way of avenging James’s death.

But he had not counted on her loving him. Or on falling a little in love with her.

Reeve needed to decide whether he was going to marry her or leave her ruined on her brother’s doorstep. And he had better do it before she awakened again.

“Reeve?”

He felt the hairs stand up on his arms in response to the sound of her voice calling his name. He could see her eyes glowing in the light from the candle burning on the nightstand. “You fell asleep,” he said.

“I never dreamed it would be like this,” she mused. “I dreamed it would be wonderful. But I did not know. How could I know?”

“Know what?” he asked, his voice harsh.

“What it would feel like to have a man inside me. To have you inside me.”

Tell her now. Tell her quickly. Before you cannot tell her at all
.

“Your brother was right, Olivia,” he said.

She looked confused. “About what?”

“About me.”

He waited for her to figure it out. She was bright. Smart as a whip. She shook her head slowly from side to side.

“No, Reeve. Don’t do this.”

“I lied, Olivia. There will be no marriage.”

She was clutching the sheet against her breasts. “What are you planning to do with me?”

“We will travel this morning to Somersville
Manor. Where I expect your brother will be waiting for us. He will be angry, of course. And I will tell him plainly that I have ruined you and why.”

“Because of James,” she whispered.

“Because of James,” he concurred.

“I will tell him I came to you willingly,” Olivia said. “I will tell him it was my choice.”

His lips flattened. She was not making it easy. She was making it harder than he could have imagined it would be. She was so courageous. And so fiercely loyal to her brother.

As he had been to his.

“Your brother … James … Your brother …” She seemed to be debating whether to speak, or maybe only debating what she should say.