Dreamspinner (20 page)

“Not even on my first night here? Didn’t you ever stop to think that I might appreciate your presence?”

His hand went still. He looked up, his eyes piercing. “Did someone say something to upset you?”

The concern sharpening his features encouraged her. Stepping closer, she clutched the folds of her skirt. “No, but that’s not the point, Kent. You brought me into a strange household, then vanished when I needed you beside me.”

He studied her for another moment, then walked away to deposit the cuff link on a side table. Picking up the glass, he took a swallow of the amber contents. “Forgive me. I thought you were quite capable of handling my relations.”

Frustrated by his lapse into formality, she tagged at his heels. “It isn’t just that, Kent. You’ve been keeping things from me, and that isn’t right.”

Like a sword, her words sliced into Kent. He clenched the glass. The uncustomary anger in her eyes jabbed his heart and banished his weariness. Christ, what
had
Juliet heard? Surely not the truth, not so soon.

He was hard pressed to keep his tone neutral. “Exactly what are you accusing me of keeping from you?”

“For one, that telegram. Why didn’t you tell me you’d sent word ahead?”

Deliverance spread through him, a deliverance so sweeping, his knees went weak. He propped a shoulder against the bedpost and sipped his brandy. “I forgot, I suppose.”

“You forgot. Is that also your excuse for not telling Augusta right away about my father? You let me assume she knew from the telegram.”

“I thought it might be better to let everyone meet you first before breaking the news.” Unable to resist, Kent let his fingers slide down her silken cheek. “I know you’ll win them over as easily as you did me.”

To his dismay, she stepped away and whirled to face him. “That isn’t all. Kent, I know precious little about you, about your past. Why didn’t you tell me you had a sister who died?”

He stared. What the hell did she mean—? The realization struck with the force of a thunderbolt.
I had a sister once..
. Drat Rose and her incautious tongue.

Juliet bit her lip. “Please, Kent, don’t shut me out. I’m your
wife.
I want to share everything in your life... your sorrows as well as your joys.”

Gazing into her green gold eyes, he felt shaken by the violent urge to haul her against him, to kiss her until he steered her away from this dangerous quagmire of questions. Yet if he put her off, wouldn’t she query someone else here? He couldn’t always be present to guard her. Perhaps if he fed her a version of the truth, enough to satisfy her, she would cease wondering.

Perhaps, by some great miracle, she might never learn of his duplicity. She might never leave him, might never go running back to her Papa...

He finished the brandy and set down the glass. “All right. Sit down and I’ll tell you what I should have told you weeks ago.”

Taken aback by his grave tone, Juliet sank into a gilt armchair. Weeks ago? She felt a flash of foreboding, a fear that he was about to say something that would nip their fragile bud of closeness.

Kent sat on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his knees, his shirt open to the carved perfection of his chest. “First off, you should know that Rose is my half sister. She’s the daughter of my father’s mistress.”

Her mind whirled in shock.
“Rose
is illegitimate? No wonder she carried on so about the Deverells being freethinkers.”

“Did she?” His mouth tilted into a fond smile. “I’m not surprised. Rose knows more about our heritage than I do.”

“She said she was compiling a family history.”

“Yes, the research keeps her occupied.” A draft stirred the candle flame; shadows wavered over his face. “I suppose it’s a way of burying her grief over her sister’s death.”

Her thoughts took a great leap. “You mean...
Rose
had a sister who died, not you?”

He gave a curt nod. “Rose’s mother is Chantal Hutton. Chantal had a love child by another man, long before she met my father. Do you remember the sketch he did of her?”

“The pretty woman, reclining in a boat, in India?”

“Yes.” A long pause spun out as Kent regarded his clasped hands. “Juliet, there’s something else I haven’t told you about Chantal’s elder daughter. She was my wife... my first wife.”

His words struck Juliet with the force of a blow. “Emily?” she whispered.

He nodded. “After my mother’s death, Chantal came here to live. At the time, Emily was five years old and I was nine, so we grew up together.”

And eventually fell in love.
The unspoken words echoed through the shadows. So Emily was the childhood friend Kent had played and laughed with. A terrible, unreasoning jealousy tore at Juliet’s heart. Unable to control a gnawing restlessness, she rose unsteadily and paced to the hearth. Atop the mantelpiece, in the center of a grouping of photographs, stood the small framed image of an angelic blonde, her smile sweet, her eyes sad.

Juliet knew the woman’s identity even before asking, “Is this Emily?”

“Yes.”

That one gentle assertion held a richness of emotion. The fact that he kept her photograph displayed in a place of honor spoke volumes. Her throat closed; she kept her face averted. Now she understood Kent’s avowal that he might never love again; he and Emily had been staunch friends as well as devoted lovers. How he must have adored her, to have overlooked the taint of bastardy.

“Chantal still lives here,” Kent added, “in the north tower. You haven’t met her because she tends to keep to herself.”

“I see.” Juliet stared down at the cold grate. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

“If I’ve been less than open, it’s because the circumstances of Rose’s birth, of Emily’s birth, have never mattered to me.”

Was that the only reason? Or did he love Emily so much, he wanted to keep her sainted memory all to himself?

The thought wrapped Juliet in dark despair. If
she
had carried such a blemish, would he have married her? Would physical passion and a desire for an heir have been cause enough for him to disregard the strictures of society?

“Juliet? What are you thinking?”

His voice sounded tentative, oddly alarmed. Too numb to respond, she kept her back turned. The bed ropes creaked and a clink sounded as he set down his glass; then she heard the tread of approaching footsteps. His warm hands settled on her shoulders and he twisted her to face him. “Tell me what’s wrong. Please.”

From the breadth of bare chest to the beloved angles of his face, he was perfectly formed: lean, handsome, muscular. Resolution blazed to life inside her. Emily was dead, Juliet reminded herself. She was alive... and Kent belonged to her now. He openly admitted his need for her; she could use that physical attraction to win his love. With all the fire and sensuality burning in her blood, she would gently conquer his heart.

“Nothing’s wrong, Kent,” she murmured. “Nothing but the fact that I’m aching for you.”

Reaching up, she began to draw the tortoiseshell pins from her upswept hair. He frowned, his narrowed eyes following the movement of her hands, until the heavy mass rippled to her waist. She dropped the pins atop the mantel.

He caught her wrist. “Juliet, something I said disturbed you. Don’t you want to tell me about it?”

Uncertainty clouded his eyes. A sudden, sharp elation buoyed her spirits. Talk had gained her only frustration and heartache. Let him wonder about her innermost thoughts; let a bit of mystery shake him out of his complacency.

“Never mind words,” she murmured. “They only clutter up what we both really want from each other.”

As she spoke, Juliet massaged the strong fingers that snared her wrist. His grip loosened. Brushing aside his shirt, she spread her hands over the hard wall of his chest. The black hairs tickled her palms and his brandy scent enticed her. She pressed her lips to his warm skin. Sinking slowly to her knees, she let her mouth pursue a downward path to his flat belly.

His muscles jerked and his fingers dove beneath her hair to seize her shoulders. “Stand up,” he said, his voice husky. “I want to undress you.”

She tilted her head back; the flare of dark fire in his eyes rewarded her. The desire illuminating his face ignited her own breathless excitement. Kent wanted her, needed her. She would see to it that he forgot the past, forgot all but the wife who made him wild with passion.

“In a moment,” she murmured. “I’m not yet finished.”

Placing a hand over the front of his trousers, she shaped her hand to his heat. The tight barrier of fabric maddened her, kept her from caressing him. Her fingers sought the fly of his trousers and began to work free the buttons.

“Juliet... ”

The harsh sound of her name shivered down her spine. “I’m here, Kent.” As she curled her fingers around him, the insistent
pulse beat of longing quickened inside her. Kneeling before him was not an act of obeisance, but the offering of an equal. She would give him everything, entice him into loving her.

Goaded by an unthinking urge, she rubbed her cheek against his hot length, her long tresses trailing over him. From there, it took only a slight turn of her head to brush her lips across him...

He hissed out a breath. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?”

The shock edging his voice stirred misgivings in Juliet; her own boldness amazed her. Had she done something unnatural? She searched his expression through the dim candlelight. The fever in his eyes restored her exhilaration, encouraged her to follow the tantalizing path of instinct.

“I’m loving you,” she whispered. “Loving every part of you.” She pressed another kiss to him, this one more brazen, more encompassing.

“Christ, Juliet!”

His grip tensed on her shoulders, yet Kent made no move to forestall her. “Do you want me to stop?” she murmured.

“I’d die if you did.”

The certainty of his passion provoked her to greater daring, incited her to accept the lure of forbidden longings. His fingers quivered as they laced into her hair, caressing her, showing her without words how much she pleased him. His deep groans gratified her as she lost herself in learning his taste and scent and texture.

“Enough,” he croaked, hauling her to her feet. “You’ll have this over without granting me the chance to satisfy
you.”

“There’s no injustice in that, my love.” Her smile serene yet sultry, Juliet moved her hips against him. “You’d make certain the second time belonged to me.”

His eyes blazed through the shadows; his palms cupped her cheeks. “Every time belongs to you. Whatever I take, darling, I intend to give back.”

His words thrilled her as much as the feel of his mouth closing over hers, his tongue reclaiming her warm, wet softness. She kissed him back with all the yearning in her heart, with all the passion burning in her loins. His brandy taste entranced her as her hands burrowed beneath his shirt to find the solid muscles of his back and shoulder blades.

Cool air struck her spine; she hadn’t even been aware of him unbuttoning her gown. The instant he yanked down the bodice and unhooked her corset, he focused his attention on her breasts, his fingers plying the nipple of one, his mouth suckling the other. Filaments of fire shot downward, feeding the liquid glow deep within her belly. Her head drooped back, her body wilting like an overripe rose beneath the heat of the sun. Weak and wanton, she reveled in the scorching sensations, the steadily building urgency to touch and be touched, to love and be loved.

When he started to lift his head, she twined her fingers in his hair and arched her breasts to his mouth.

“Don’t stop,” she begged, her voice a husky cry. “Please don’t.”

“Only for a moment, darling.” His smile was endearingly crooked, remarkably affectionate. “I want you in my bed, that’s all.” He pulled her across the room, toward the shadowy bower within the hangings of rich, dark velvet.

Tipping her head onto his shoulder, Juliet pressed her lips to the sinews of his neck, her hand sliding down his abdomen to the turgid proof of his desire. “I want you inside me, Kent. I don’t care where... or how.”

He uttered a rough exclamation. Stopping beside the bed, he jerked her fully against him, so that she could feel his maleness pressing to her thigh. His hands stroked downward over her breasts and waist to squeeze her buttocks through the flimsy lace of her underdrawers. “My God, you excite me... I’ve never known a woman like you.”

The pure radiance of emotion dazzled Juliet. “I feel this way only for you, Kent. Because I love you.”

Naked longing gentled his features; a wild upsurge of hope made her sway in his arms. Then his mouth twisted with a trace of bleak bitterness and his gaze veered from hers. Releasing her, he walked toward the nightstand.

She caught his wrist. “Let’s leave the candle burning for once. You look so handsome in the light.”

“No.” His voice was harsh, almost chilling. Secrets shaded his eyes in the moment before he pinched out the flame with his forefinger and thumb.

Night submerged the room. Disappointment wrenched her insides even as anticipation shuddered like goose bumps across her skin. How could he desire her yet not want to look upon her? Unless it was abnormal to feel this yearning to make love in the light…

Against the moon glow filtering through a slit in the window curtains, she could discern Kent’s tall, black form. She heard the rustle of fabric, the quiet slither of his clothes as they dropped to the floor. Then his hands, warm and callused, slid inside her underdrawers.

Any further protest she might have spoken withered on her lips. Instead, a low moan emerged from deep in her throat as he knelt to finish disrobing her, his hands peeling away her silk stockings, then following the flowing line of her legs back up to her bare thighs. His thumbs rubbed in provocative circles, drawing ever closer to the part of her that wept for him. He put his lips to her belly, the moist heat of his tongue loving her skin. With the darkness enclosing them, she could think of nothing save the steady descent of his mouth... and then a kiss so intimate and so arousing, she nearly swooned.