Danger Wears White (26 page)

She no longer feared pregnancy, she anticipated it eagerly. “If I’m not, I will be soon enough.”

He chuckled. “My love, we shall have to make sure of it.”

She couldn’t imagine a more worthwhile occupation.

Tony kept his wife in bed all the next day, telling her she needed to rest.

“If I needed to rest,” she told him, with much laughter, “I’d get up.”

That was fair enough. Now she’d let him in he couldn’t get enough of her. Couldn’t imagine a time when he’d ever tire of exploring her heat, her curves, and her sweet flavors. He was already addicted to her.

Trusting her had been the best decision he’d ever made. When they weren’t making love, they were talking, and not just about their problems. They shared their hopes for the future and their desires to make themselves anew. When she revealed her sorrow about her mother’s coldness, he didn’t remind her that Mrs. Thane, or Lady Hollinhead, as she preferred to style herself, was not her mother in any sense of the word, but he comforted her, and held her while she shed a few tears. After all, the lady had taken care of Imogen, and brought her home when she could have remained in Rome.

Or could she? Was she, perhaps, ordered to do it, and so resented the baby that wasn’t hers, who she’d have to sacrifice all her personal ambitions for?

As he held his sleeping wife, happiness simmering inside him, Tony let his thoughts wander. The most important thing in the world to him now was keeping her safe and happy. He would do anything to achieve that.

The dowager was a problem, privy to who knew how many secrets? Outside the Emperors, she was the only person who knew the secret of Imogen’s birth. He no longer doubted the veracity of her origins. She even had the Stuart hair and eyes, soft velvet brown eyes, the kind that had beguiled a nation into civil war and persuaded the same nation to restore the status quo. Almost. Because these days the monarch ruled by the will of the people.

If the Stuarts returned, they’d make an attempt at absolute monarchy again. The only Stuart in the direct line with a modicum of good sense had been King Charles the Second. The current members of the family consisted of a privately promiscuous melancholic, a dim drunk, and a pious fussbudget. That was their main problem. If anyone had seen any worth in the family, they might have had a chance to return in ’15. As it was, the Old Pretender had refused to convert to Protestantism and lost his chance. His son had converted more recently, but he was lapsing into his Catholic ways, once it became obvious his ploy had no effect.

And here lay he, Tony, holding a royal princess. A princess born on the wrong side of the blanket, that was. Her breath puffed against his shoulder, and he smiled. His princess, always that. He would give his life to ensure she kept hers. And now he knew what she wanted, they could work toward that. Once Julius returned to town, Tony would have that document off him and thrown in the fire—if Julius didn’t have the sense to deal with it already. His cousin had fingers in several political pies, but he wouldn’t use this particular bit of information to help him do anything but set Imogen free from her concerns.

She stirred and he watched her eyes flutter open.

“What time is it?”

“Time to make love.” It was always time to make love with her.

Gently, he rolled her onto her back and relished her slumberous smile welcoming him. His cock was already hard and leaking, its perpetual state over the last day. If he wasn’t recovering from making love to her, he was preparing for a new bout. Or holding her, or snatching sleep before something woke him—her soft breath on his chest, a sinuous wriggle as she adjusted her position next to him or a murmur as she awoke.

She opened her legs as he sank between them. She wasn’t ready yet, her folds turned in, as if she closed like a flower when she slept. The idea of her feminine beauty as a flower appealed to him. An orchid, perhaps, with the fleshly soft petals opening for a very special bee.

No. Thoughts of stamens and pollen turned the whimsical into the unbelievable. Besides, he wasn’t a poet. He expressed himself much better physically, or perhaps when he was making plans for a campaign, planning strategies.

His cock nestled between her legs as if born for that purpose alone. He kissed her, relishing the press of his body against hers, although he took care to keep his weight off her by using his knees and elbows to support himself. She ran her hands down his body, smoothing him like a cat, until she reached his buttocks. She cupped them and urged him in.

It only took a few nudges for her intimate wetness to flow. He lodged his cock against the opening to her body, content to wait until she was ready to accept him. Finishing the kiss, he tipped his head back, watching her as he slowly entered her, letting their bodies dictate the pace and not forcing anything.

The feel of their bodies slowly melding and joining struck Tony as miraculous. She absorbed him, taking his hardness into her lush, wet heat, bathing him in her essence and undoing him completely. For this alone he was hers, but her humor, her intelligence and her fierce spirit ravished him just as much. With her by his side he could achieve anything. No,
they
could achieve anything, together. Acting as one, as they were now.

Lifting her legs, she put her feet flat on the crumpled sheet beneath them as he moved in her, finding the right angle to rub against the sweet nub of her clitoris as he thrust inside her and withdrew. Arching her back, she aided his endeavors, and when she flinched, that tiny movement told him he’d reached the right spot.

The familiar heat engulfed him, their joining a physical expression of their togetherness, of the partnership they would forge that would become stronger every day, every year. No other notion had reverberated in him with such certainty before—that they belonged together and they would create something wonderful together.

Her remark earlier about being pregnant had only filled him with a sense of wonder. She’d come through the ordeal safely—there was no other alternative, nothing, though he would find a way to prevent her getting with child year after year and wearing herself out. When he took a woman, which was rarer than most people thought, he took his responsibilities seriously. Withdrawal didn’t work, and now, he was so addicted to coming inside Imogen that he doubted he could even do it anymore.

She stiffened, and her channel softened and widened, her heat washing over him in great waves. He let go, let sensation take him and push him over the edge, knowing she would be with him this time.

Her cries of completion hastened his peak of ecstasy. Her channel tightened around him, milking him, taking everything he had to give her and demanding more.

A gentle, gradual loving, none the less intense for all that.

He slowly withdrew from her body, careful not to jar her sensitive flesh, and rolled onto his back, taking her with him. Before he spoke again, he kissed her, the flavor that was so uniquely hers infusing him with strength and purpose.

Her smile bathed him in warmth. “I love you.” They had told each other that simple truth over and over, as if holding it back another day was impossible. It was certainly pointless. Even if he hadn’t told her, he’d have revealed it by now by the intensity of his lovemaking.

“You are my heart.” He caressed her cheek and with regret pointed out the light. “We’ve been here a day and two nights now. We should at least make enquiries to see if the world is still there. I’ll order them to bring breakfast to the sitting room.” Their own room. He’d ordered simple meals, but they’d eaten them together, without servants.

They hadn’t ventured farther than that yesterday, and their powder-rooms to wash and freshen up. Even that necessary time apart had given him a bleak, lonely feeling.

She lifted her head and looked around. “What’s the time?”

He eased her back and rolled over, reaching for the watch he kept on the nightstand. He flicked it open, the lid springing open with a touch of his thumb. “Nearly ten o’clock.” He glanced back at her. “And all’s well.”

After their kisses, she asked him, “Why don’t you have a clock on the mantel?”

He grinned. “I don’t like the ticking. I got them to take it out. I can have one brought in if you like.”

“No.” She nodded at his watch. “I’ll get a stand and find a watch that doesn’t tick very loudly.”

His barely made any noise at all once he’d closed the lid. That was why he liked it here. “I’ll get you the best I can find.” He replaced the watch and turned to her. “One more kiss.”

As it happened, it was half an hour before they left the bed, but Tony didn’t feel the need to rush. He’d been afraid she’d be too sore, unaccustomed to making love so often. As it happened, so was he, and he was feeling the effects a little.

They’d taken time to wash, and after they’d eaten, they’d found the bed remade with fresh sheets. Even that discreet evidence that the household knew what they were about drew her blushes. He loved her blushes and couldn’t resist teasing her a little more but only gently. This kind of intimacy was new to them both, but they had all the time in the world to develop it and learn to savor it in all its delightful moods.

In the sitting-room, someone had left their post. A plethora of invitations told them they were not forgotten. On the contrary, society, now beginning to gather for the beginning of the season after Easter, was agog to see them. No doubt partly to examine the state of the bride’s belly. Tony’s lip twisted in a wry smile. Maybe they had reason after the last two days, although even if their previous encounter had had a fruitful result, it would not show for a while.

He laid the gilt-edged embossed pieces of pasteboard aside to peruse after he’d read the other correspondence. A slew of advertising matter lay in another stack under the invitations. He didn’t bother to give them a glance. A few letters. Three, to be precise. One came from his mother, a fond note with a little gossip that he read once and laid aside to read in detail later. They might share the same house, but during his service in the army, she had become used to writing to him, and he enjoyed her letters, so they had continued the practice when he got home.

Another from a cousin, Claudia, a lively young woman, one of the two sets of twins born to his aunt Wilhelmina. A baggage. Only a baggage would write to a newly married man, but an amusing one. He had a simple, uncomplicated friendship with Claudia, something that was rare in his life. And one from Julius.

He examined the outer part before he slit open the seal. Hand-delivered, the outside clean, which probably meant his cousin was back in London. At last. He skimmed the contents and told his wife the gist of it.

“It’s brief enough. He has returned to London, he has news, and he requests an interview with us as soon as possible. He sends his best wishes, of course.”

She looked up from her own correspondence. He understood her much better now. Whether it was because she was no longer trying to hide her emotions from him or whether he had just grown to understand her better, he wasn’t sure.

In any case, the starkness of her cheekbones and the fire in her eyes told him she wasn’t pleased about something, probably in the letter she held in her hand. “My mother says she will leave London tomorrow. She has had enough, she says, of fine living. That isn’t true, Tony. She’s ached to visit London and give me my season. Something is sending her running.”

He reached out over the table, and without hesitation, she put her hand in his. “How do you feel?” he said. “Could you bear an interview today?”

“I think we must. Or my mother will bolt. I can’t help but suspect that the two events are linked. Julius’s return and my mother’s departure.” She sighed, and he squeezed her hand in sympathy.

“I’ll make the arrangements. How quickly can you dress?”

“Ten minutes.” She grinned. He loved that she felt so natural with him now. “But for town, probably half an hour to an hour. I won’t powder.”

“Why hide that glorious hair?”

She grimaced. “I never thought it so when it tangled around me in the wind and rain. I cut it myself once and my mother didn’t speak to me for a week.”

His laugh surprised him, bursting out, pure joy filling him. This woman was his, and he loved her. Anything else they would cope with.

Julius had a very elegant drawing room, but he made good use of it. He used it for family gatherings and ordinary everyday use, despite the fashionable furniture and Meissen figurines. His daughter, Caroline, was allowed to play there, but she wasn’t there today. Only Julius, resplendent as always, immaculately turned out. He was sitting on a sofa, an open file by his side, containing a number of papers.

Leisurely he got to his feet in a smooth movement and met them, hands outstretched. He took Imogen’s hands first. Disdaining the formal greeting, he drew her closer and kissed her on each cheek, and he shook Tony’s hand. “Congratulations. I’m very pleased for you both.” He drew back. “But not as pleased as you two are, from the look of you. Come and have some tea.”

Tea. Tony would have preferred brandy, considering the news Julius might have to impart. But he took Imogen to the sofa and seated her as if she were too fragile to do it herself. While she could ride around her estate, deliver a lamb, or help with harvest, he’d learned that treatment amused her. He was understanding the woman he was in love with, and with understanding would come a deeper connection. As there was with his parents. Without that example, he didn’t know how people had the courage to go ahead, but Imogen had. His respect for her increased every day, and his wonder that she’d agreed to take him.

Not that he would dream of explaining any of that to Julius. The owner of a hundred fancy waistcoats and lavender-and-pink breeches was every inch a man. He didn’t share his emotions, nor did he ask anyone to do that with him.

Tony gave a swift account of what had happened in Julius’s absence. “Basically fairly quiet except for the last few days. I will take care of Imogen from now on.”