Edith Layton (11 page)

“Oh,” she said, surprised.

“Yes,” he said, and angled his mouth over hers to kiss her parted lips. And then drew her into his arms and deepened the kiss.

She was shocked, then staggered. Then she stopped
thinking as sensations coursed through her. His mouth was warm, he tasted of sweet and tangy liquors, he made her stop thinking of anything at all—until she felt the rough tip of his tongue trace her own, and went stone still—and then leaned toward him to experience it again, because it was so strange. He must have a reason to do such a bizarre thing. She would know why. It was challenging. And she could never resist a challenge. She had to see if it was merely shocking, or delicious, as he’d said. She gave it a moment. It was delicious. Dark and deep and intriguing.

“So,” he said, when he finally drew away, his voice a little shaken. “So, very good. It will be a real marriage after all.”

“I
said
I wanted children, I don’t know how else to get them,” she said without thinking because she was so bemused. “Oh!” Her hand flew to her mouth.

“O
h
indeed, my dear Gilly,” he laughed, and drew her back into his embrace.

He mightn’t be what she wanted, she thought as she went willingly back into the warm shelter of his arms and offered up her mouth to his again. But the man she did want was right again, as usual. Because she had done well for herself, and had gotten more than she’d expected, or deserved.

But she’d be good to Damon, and for him. And if he was second best, she vowed he’d never know it or have cause to feel in second place…and then stopped thinking of anything but his embrace.

D
amon idly shuffled through the cards of invitation to his wedding. “You aren’t inviting Lord Wycoff?” he asked with interest. He became even more interested in the way the color rushed to his fiancée’s face at his words. “I thought he was a friend of yours. An odd choice for a friend, but if he is one I wonder why I don’t see his name here. I don’t mind his being there. Do you?”

“Why should I?” Gilly asked, surprised.

“There are those who might wonder at your friendship.”

“Oh, as if I give a fig for that!” Gilly said irritably. “I met him a long time ago at a weekend we spent at someone’s house, when I was still new at being a girl. I made
so
many mistakes,” she said with a shake of her
head. “But he, of all people, covered up for me and tried to set me at my ease. And he was
not
trying to seduce me then…I don’t think. Well, I don’t guess, not with Drum there! And Ewen and Rafe, to boot. As I said, he’s guessed my beginnings, I suppose, and takes an interest in me. He’s wise in the ways of the
ton
. Very amusing, too. Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt you can, although I’d hope you’d let me do that now. But if that’s all true, then I don’t know why you haven’t included him,” Damon said, too carelessly.

She glanced down at the blank invitation under her hand. “I didn’t think he’d want to travel so far,” she invented quickly, “he’s got so much town bronze, it might rust in the country dew.”

“Mmm,” Damon hummed. “A lovely analogy,” he said, taking a seat beside her. “Now, myself, I find it’s interesting to see people out of their usual surroundings. It’s almost always depressing, though. So I don’t blame you for not asking him. If he’s a friend of yours, I suppose it would be embarrassing for you to see him in an awkward position, not to mention putting him in one.”

Gilly laid down her pen and looked directly at him, trying to assess his mood and exact meaning. But when she did she found it was hard to get past the actual appearance of the man. He always looked handsome, but now some wicked thought was tilting his mouth and his eyebrows, making him even more attractive. Which was difficult, she thought, because he filled the eye just sitting there. He wore casual morning clothes, a dun jacket, buckskins, and boots.
His hair glowed tobacco gold in the morning light. His eyes sparkled with laughter.

She sighed. Constant exposure to him ought to have made her accustomed, not more susceptible, to him. She couldn’t understand it. She saw him every day, they’d kissed over a dozen times since they’d decided to actually marry. And yet…instead of his attraction fading with familiarity, it was growing. When he kissed her, her wits fled and she didn’t miss them while she stayed, stunned, in his embrace. When he touched her, it seemed he touched more than her body, and she found to her shock that she wanted to offer him ever more body to touch.

She went into his arms with wonder and utter trust. It scarcely mattered if it was the base of her neck or the curve of her breast he caressed—his touch made her senses thrum. She’d feel the warmth and strength of him and yet relax, secure in the knowledge that his ardor was matched by his control. Because he was the one who always ended it, even though he said it was becoming difficult to do so. Just last night he’d drawn back murmuring something ruefully humorous about men’s fashions and how he had to leave her soon, with his dignity, at least—if not his mind—intact.

Just last night, she’d surprised them both. He’d held her close and she’d felt his urgency, that foreign shape suddenly risen hard against her body. He was right, their clothing was too thin for her not to notice. With all his control, there were some manifestations of his desire he couldn’t conceal. No more than she could hide the sudden rush of sensation that caused the tips of her breasts to rise and tighten, pebbling
against his shirtfront. He reacted to it, and it made his other problem worsen—“Or better, as the case may be,” he said on a rusty chuckle as he drew away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he’d said, sitting back.

“For what?” she asked, still dazed with pleasure. She, of all women, expected men to be easily aroused. That didn’t surprise her. The amazing thing was her own response, how often lately she longed to touch more than his jacket when she put her arms around his neck.

“I didn’t want to worry you, just remind you,” he said to her bewilderment. “I am in control, Gilly. I’ll always be with you. For you.”

“Remind me?” she asked in pretty puzzlement. “About what…Oh! T
hat
? I mean, what happened to me?” It had been late and she was tired, off balance, and utterly honest, as always. She said it as she thought it. “But how could you? You’re…Damon. You’re you, young and strong and clean. You smell good and are good. You’re nothing like that blubbery piece of garbage. T
hat
wasn’t this. I don’t remember much but anger and pain, darkness over me, and the fact that he was suffocating me and I wanted to kill him. Oh, Damon, this is nothing like.”

“And there’s no one in the world like you, is there?” he said tenderly, taking her hand. “You’re right. But so am I. I’d never do anything you didn’t want, or like. Remember that. My job, of course,” he said on a laugh, “is to make you want and like everything I do.”

“I don’t?” she asked, honestly confused.

His laughter chased her doubts. Her slowly rising grin banished his fears.

Well, good for the future, and we shall see
, was the only thing she allowed herself to think, refusing to dwell on it. She turned her thoughts to his sly grin instead. “Wycoff in an awkward position?” she mused. “A fish out of water? Lord Wycoff? No, I don’t think he’d ever be at a loss.”

“High praise,” Damon murmured. “Then why not invite him?”

“Hmm,” she said, and wondered why herself.

He said, too casually, “But you’re right not to. It might be embarrassing for him in a different way. He pretended to be your friend. A friend would rejoice at your marriage. I wonder if he will. Or would it present a conflict? To go and pretend? Or find an excuse to refuse? Hard for him to admit by not coming that he had an altogether different kind of relationship in mind from the first.”

“You think that’s why I hesitated?” she asked, genuinely surprised at herself. “Because it would be a test? You know? It may be so! Only I didn’t think I was such a hen heart. Well, so be it,” she said, picking up her pen, “I’ll send him one. If he doesn’t come, I’ll know, won’t I?”

“Or maybe you didn’t want him at your wedding because you want to keep him from remembering it? Because you want to keep him as a beau?” Damon asked. He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, his mood turning serious. “Many married women like to have a string of flirts. But Gilly—I wouldn’t like that. I’m not that fashionable. I want a real marriage, and there’d be no room for even the most innocent flirtations in ours. At least, that’s how I see it. If you don’t, I
suppose we’d better have that out now. I’m an easygoing man. But not about that.”

But he hadn’t known that until he heard himself say it. He frowned at the sudden knowledge.

She sat up straight and looked him in the eye, her own becoming molten gold. “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d…well, you don’t want to know what I would do! Look you, Damon Ryder, I’m an honest woman—honest to a fault, I think. If I marry you, and mind, I say ‘
if
’ now, I’d be as true to you as I tell the vicar I will be. Which also means,” she added, pointing her pen at his heart, “that if I find you’ve been grazing in other pastures, I pity you—and whatever trull you take up with! I don’t hold with infidelity. I’m a woman of my word.”

He took the pen from her fingers because it was dripping ink on the invitation it was poised over. And because it would have prevented him from taking her into his arms.

“Gilly,” he said, his lips against her hair as he tried to cradle her stiffened body in his arms, “I know it. Your word is as good as gold. As you are. Forgive me. I surprise myself. But you see, I never knew I was a jealous man before. Maybe because I never cared enough about anything to be jealous of it. I’m known as a man who’d give the shirt off his back to another who needed it, and I have. Now I find I resent your giving the smallest smile to any other fellow. It’s not right, I know. Don’t worry. I think I’ll get over it once I know I have your heart. I’m still not sure of that. Because I know you’re not sure either. But don’t change. Be as jealous of me as you want—I love it!”

“Huh!” she said in a little gust of breath. “Cocks
comb! As if I’m jealous! This is practicality, not jealousy. It’s as well you spoke of it now. Because some gents like to trifle once they get bored with their wives. I’m telling you right off that I won’t have that.”

“I won’t get bored with my wives,” he promised. And was delighted when she pretended to swat his shoulder, and giggled. Even more so when she offered him a simple kiss of peace before she left his embrace.

“Now, then,” she said, flustered by how quickly that kiss began to distract her, “let me get back to the invitations. Bother! I’ve ruined this one, haven’t I? Run your eyes down the rest and see if we’ve forgot anyone else, will you? These must be sent out today or we’ll have only crickets and moths at our wedding supper.”

“We’ll light our brightest lamps and serve them nectar,” he said, “and dance the night away anyway. We don’t need guests, nothing will ruin our wedding day.”

She flashed him a quick grin and bent her head to begin writing carefully again.

“Why don’t you have Ewen’s secretary do that?” Damon asked curiously.

She looked up quickly, her pen arrested, her eyes wary. “Why do you say that? Don’t you think I can do it well enough? Is there something wrong with my writing? I thought it looked neat, elegant almost, I thought—”

“Hold! Hold!” He laughed. “I wasn’t criticizing. It looks fine. But it’s a fine day, too, and I was hoping you could go riding with me instead of spending the day copying out names and addresses.”

“Oh. But…you see, I wanted that personal touch, and…no,” she said resolutely. “The thing of it is that
it’s a promise I made to myself long ago…I suppose you ought to know it wasn’t
that
long ago.”

She faced him squarely. “I could write my name when I met the Sinclairs. Only that. I could read a few words. It served me, then. They told me I must learn more, but I didn’t like the idea of taking lessons with a schoolmaster at my age. But Drum told me there was more to being Ewen’s ward than living off him, that I ought to repay him by becoming educated to better fit in his world. I was so insulted at the thought of him thinking of me as a sponge, I vowed to be the most educated female on the planet after he said that. He knew I would.

“I paid attention to my lessons. The reading came easily. The writing was harder. But I kept at it. I had to be better than adequate, just to show him I could be. I picked the hardest scripts to master and practiced hours on end. I showed Drum my copybook every time I saw him. Eventually even
he
said I could find work as a secretary—if they ever decided to hire females as such. I suppose I ought to have mentioned that before. Damon—are you still sure you want to go through with this?”

“Surer than ever. What is it now?”

“You ought to be marrying someone who could write from the cradle!” she said in frustration. “Not someone who had to be taught exactly how to cross her Ts when she was all grown up!”

“An infant prodigy? Who’d know what a dunce I am? I doubt I’d want that kind of wife,” he said in mock alarm. Then his voice softened. “Dear dunderhead. I want a wife who has grit and determination, a woman
who can learn something later than others and yet learn to do it better than they can. Life’s a learning process, and marriage, I hear, one of it’s hardest schools. You’ve shown you’re qualified for any lesson life throws at you. Wait! I see your game! You
pretend
you’re ashamed. I think you only told me this to show me how gifted a pupil you are. Clever puss. Don’t worry, I won’t change my mind, you don’t have to brag about your brains. Next thing I know the woman will be sewing and baking for me to prove her worth,” he commented to the air.

Gilly made a face at him.

He laughed, but rose from his seat. “Now, I’ll leave you to your invitations, because no one can do them better. But hurry, I’ll be back for tea and nothing will prevent me from dragging you out of here if you aren’t finished by then.”

He dropped a light kiss on the nape of her neck, catching the scent of freesia there, and left with a sigh of sorrow that was only half feigned. Not only because he wanted to take her into his arms and pursue that elusive scent to where her pulses warmed it. But also because although she kept objecting to their marriage on his behalf, he knew it was because of her own doubts. He had none.

Gilly waved an absent good-bye to him, bowed her head, and set to work again. Until she heard him say good-bye to the butler and the sound of the front door closing. Then she put down her pen and dropped her head in her hands.

Talking about those lessons from Drum had brought him back to her so clearly, it was as if she’d suddenly seen him there before them. She’d seen him clear—
lounging in the shadows of the room, a tall, slender gentleman, his straight raven hair brushed back from his high forehead, his thin sensitive mouth wearing that faint mocking smile he always wore when he teased her.

A few years younger than his cousin Ewen, the Earl of Drummond looked vaguely like him, but he couldn’t be called remotely handsome. Drum was better than that, she’d always thought, staring at the image of him she’d etched in her mind. He was distinctive. His face was hard, with a narrow nose and high cheekbones. Some said it was almost homely. She didn’t. She couldn’t see how anyone could, not with those unusually beautiful azure eyes of his. Not with the intelligence burning bright in them. He had the same height and width of shoulder as Ewen, but was built on leaner lines. He was darker in every way, too, from his slightly swarthy complexion to his cast of mind and ironic sense of humor.