Just Wicked Enough (27 page)

“Kate…” He swallowed hard. “I won’t survive if you die.”

“Exactly how I felt when you stepped in front of the gunman, you dolt. Never, ever do anything so unselfish again. I won’t stand for it. I’ll cut you off without a penny—”

“You no longer have that power over me.” He skimmed his fingers along her cheek. “I wish I didn’t need any of it, Kate. I wish I had asked for your hand. I wish I could say…”

Reaching up, she pressed a kiss to his throat. “I know, Michael. All that matters is that I do know.”

“I wish I had the strength to carry you to my bed.” He grimaced. “Although after my spending far too much time in it of late, I fear it’s not suitable for a lady.”

“A good thing I changed the bedding before coming in here.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, and she gave him an impish smile. “My sole purpose in coming into this room was to seduce you.”

“Then all my blabbering—”

“Wasn’t necessary, but was very much appreciated.”

He cradled her face between his hands. “I adore you.” He couldn’t say why those words were easier to speak, didn’t seem to carry the weight of others. “I have for a good long time now.”

“And I love you.” She slid her hand in his. “Come to bed with me and I’ll show you exactly how much.”

He barely remembered the journey to his bed because his attention had been caught by the sight of Kate’s bare backside coming into view as her gown slid to the floor and she stepped out of it without missing a beat. She scrambled onto his bed and he knew an intense moment of satisfaction. “Don’t close your eyes tonight,” he ordered.

“I’ll try not to but I can’t promise. When I close my eyes it’s only because you’ve delivered such exquisite torment. I swear to you, Michael, he’s never been in bed with us.” “Never?”

She slowly shook her head. “I tried to hold on to him that first night, but you effectively sent him away.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “So all your cries were always for me?”

“Always. Lie down. Tonight I wish to torment you.”

“I’d rather we torment each other.”

Stretching out on his side, his bad side, he groaned, before falling to his back. Before he could apologize, she’d straddled his hips. His body reacted with a ferocity of purpose that had him smiling as he reached up and threaded his fingers through her hair. “I wasn’t certain I’d be up to the task. I’m glad to see I misjudged my strength.”

She furrowed her brow. “Once clothes are removed you don’t usually talk…” Awe filled her eyes, then tears. “Oh, my Lord, you kept silent because you didn’t want to interfere with my fantasy.”

He stroked his knuckles along her cheek, capturing her warm tears. “Don’t cry, Kate. I’m not worth tears.”

“You’re worth everything, Michael. I shall spend the remainder of my life proving it to you.”

Michael became acutely aware that when someone
wanted
to touch a person the sensation of it was very different than it was when someone was required to touch a person. Kate’s touch was tender and gentle, brazen and fiery. She did what she’d never done before. She touched every inch of him. Every inch. With her soft hands, her hot mouth, her velvety tongue. He writhed in torment, writhed in ecstasy.

Kate was determined to bring Michael as much pleasure in one night as possible, the total of all he’d brought her during so many other nights. But he was impatient, her husband was. When she returned her mouth to his, he used the opportunity to cradle her hips, to lift her up, to guide her down.

He murmured sweet words, praising her beauty, praising her skill, praising her. She felt for the first time, that tonight finally, she had all of him. And she wanted to leave him with no doubts that he had all of her.

As she rocked against him, with the pleasure building, she held his gaze, never once closing her eyes. Not even when the rapture threatened to cause her to pass out.

It was the strangest thing to hear his joyful laughter filling the room afterward, to feel the rumble of his chest beneath hers.

“You’re truly mine, Kate Rose Tremayne. You’re truly mine.”

“I truly am,” she whispered, as she snuggled in contentment against him and fell asleep.

Kate loved him. Michael woke up in awe, with her still nestled against his side. They’d made love that morning, not once, but twice. He’d have kept her in bed all day except she’d insisted she had matters that needed her attention. The Season was coming to an end. They’d be closing up the house soon, and she was ready to return to the country where they could begin working on all the plans they had there.

He was making his first foray beyond his bedchambers. His valet had helped him dress, but he still didn’t feel quite civilized. Nor was he particularly hungry, even though he was certain breakfast had been set out. What he wanted was a walk about the garden, a chance to smell flowers, to touch silky petals that reminded him of the silkiness of his wife’s skin. He wanted to feel the sun on his face, the breeze in his hair. If he didn’t think it would reopen his wound, he’d take a hard ride on Obsidian.

He stepped out on the terrace, surprised to discover his mother sitting there. It had been so long since he’d seen her tidy. She wore a pale pink dress, her hair upswept in a simple style. The young woman sitting at the table beside his mother rose and smiled at him. “My lord.”

She tilted her head slightly as though issuing an invitation for Michael to take her place. He’d not seen his mother since she’d attacked him. She hardly seemed aware of his presence now. But she did appear calm. He took the chair while the young lady poured him tea before moving away to give them a moment of privacy.

It was some time before his mother finally looked over at him. “Dreadful stuff.”

“Pardon?”

“Tea. I’ve never understood—”

“The English fascination with it?” he finished for her.

She smiled and nodded, before giving her attention back to the garden. Michael watched as tears welled in her eyes.

“Lionel?”

Michael’s heart lurched. That had been his father’s name. Was she having one of her delusions, imaging that she was sitting beside her husband?

“I know it’s our way to have”—her brow creased as though she searched for the word—“nannies…but how will our son know how much we love him?”

Michael felt a painful tightening in his chest. Her mind may have taken away her memory, but it seemed in far corners some bit of him remained real to her. Reaching across the table he laid his large hand over her frail one. “He’ll know, madam. I swear to you, he’ll know.”

“You absolutely will not believe this,” Jenny said.

Kate had arranged for her family to join her and Michael for dinner, and her family had only just arrived. She wanted a last evening with them before she left for the country estate. She’d escorted them into the parlor where Michael was pouring a bit of brandy for the men. His color had returned and he was moving around less gingerly. And whenever he looked at her, his eyes promised pleasure when they retired for the evening.

“Wesley has left for America.”

Kate felt Michael’s gaze come to bear on her, and she hoped her face revealed exactly what she was feeling at the news: absolutely nothing. Not the tiniest bit of loss. “Melanie will be happier there,” Kate said.

“Here’s the thing, though, he didn’t take Melanie with him. He’s abandoned her.”

Kate stared at her sister. “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly. Her sister told me she’s been in tears ever since he left. She’ll no doubt seek a divorce.”

“How will he survive in America?”

“Apparently he came into a small fortune.”

Kate narrowed her eyes as suspicion began to dawn. She turned her attention to the three men who were studying their snifters of brandy as though they’d never seen the shade before. “All right. I want the truth and I want it now. Which one of you paid him off?”

“I did,” her mother said.

Kate spun around and stared at her.

Her mother angled her chin. “Money well spent.”

“How much?”

“Don’t be vulgar, Kate. A lady does not discuss monetary details.”

“What were the terms?”

“That he put as much distance between himself and you as possible. I suggested the width of an ocean.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Mama. I was quite determined to steer clear of him myself.”

“Would you deny me an opportunity to meddle?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m so glad to be leaving for the country tomorrow.”

“You will return for your sister’s wedding in October.”

“No one will be in London in October.”

“I hadn’t considered that.”

Kate looked at Jenny. “Why don’t you get married at Raybourne?”

Jenny smiled. “I’d like that.”

Much to Kate’s surprise, dinner was a pleasant affair until Jenny remarked on how much she detested the constant rain that had descended on London of late.

Michael had lifted his wineglass and swirled the ruby-red contents. “I’m rather fond of rain, especially the sound it makes as it dances across leaves.”

And Kate had known he was thinking of their time beneath the tree at the pond. She’d grown warm with the thoughts, finding it difficult now to comprehend why she’d resisted his touch so fervently for so long.

She didn’t get a moment alone with Jenny until after dinner. Her father, mother, and Jeremy had gone on out to coach when Kate had stopped Jenny at the door.

“Are you really going to marry Pemburton?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to address me as Your Grace.”

“Mother can arrange a fabulous wedding in two weeks. Why are you waiting two months?”

“Because I have something I want to do before I get married.”

Kate squeezed her sister’s hand. “Is it something foolish?”

A sheen of tears appeared in Jenny’s eyes before she blinked them back. “Probably. I want to say good-bye to Ravensley…properly.”

“Do be careful lest you find yourself married to an earl instead of a duke.”

“There’s no chance of that happening.”

“I’d once thought I’d never have a marriage filled with love. But I do, Jenny. I’ve never known such happiness. Never.”

“You have love. Do you have passion?”

“I’m not certain you can have one without the other.”

Jenny smiled. “Still I shall try.”

Michael decided that he didn’t like this tradition of husbands and wives having separate bedchambers, especially since he could no longer envision a night when he wouldn’t want to sleep with Kate.

He walked into her bedchamber, surprised to find she wasn’t in her bed. Nor was she sitting on the sofa. She had to be in her bathing room, but as he headed toward it with visions of washing her, he spied her sitting on the floor before the fireplace, removing items from a box and tossing them onto the writhing flames, watching them burn one by one.

Sitting beside her, he grabbed her hand before she could toss the next envelope into the fire. “Kate, what are you doing?”

“Ridding myself of Wesley’s poems.”

“You don’t have to do that for me.”

She gave him a wistful smile. “I’m doing it for me.”

“You loved him once. You shouldn’t discount that.”

She tossed the envelope into the fire, watched the flames licking at the edges of the paper. “I’m not so sure I did.” She looked at him and he could see the struggle in her eyes. “I think I gave him up too easily.”

Michael felt as though she’d taken the poker and struck him with it. “You mean you wish you’d gone to America with him?”

Leaning over, she brushed her lips over his. “No. When Wesley and I were married, it took very little for Father and Jeremy to convince me that we should have the marriage annulled. No one would be able to convince me not to remain married to you.”

Michael released a huge sigh. “I’m very relieved to hear that.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think you quite understand. They could take away the money and I’d stand firmly by you. They could tell me they’d disown me, and I wouldn’t leave you. There is nothing with which they could threaten me that would cause me to abandon you. And with Wesley, in truth, it took very little.”

“You were young, Kate.”

“That’s what Jeremy said.”

“I think you should keep the poems. God knows I’ll never write you one.”

She tossed the entire box onto the fire, watched it flare, before turning back to him. ”I don’t need poetry, Michael. All I need is you.”

Then she was in his arms, holding him close, kissing him tenderly.

Several years later

“C
ome give Mama a hug before she goes.”

Standing in the doorway of the nursery, Michael watched as his wife bent down and gathered their two sons and one daughter against her, somehow managing to effectively hug all three at once. He didn’t know if he’d ever seen a mother of the aristocracy who doted on her children more than his Kate did.

Their children harbored no doubts that they were loved and loved deeply. Kate played games with them, took them on outings, read to them, and hugged them fiercely every chance she got. Michael still found it difficult to be as free with his affection, but Kate more than made up for it. He loved these moments of watching her with them, loved when he had time to join them on their outings to the zoological gardens or on picnics. But between managing his estates and working to improve the conditions at asylums, he found his days never seemed to have enough hours in them. With Kate’s acumen for business, they’d made some wise investments and Michael had never taken another shilling from her father after that initial payment. As a matter of fact, as their own wealth began to accumulate, he’d wanted to return the five million dollars to her father, but the old man wouldn’t hear of it. “You’ll just get it back when I die and I certainly don’t need it. Put it to good works.”

And so they had.

On the first anniversary of their wedding day, Kate had returned to him his father’s ring. He’d been deeply touched. His gift to her had been a very badly written poem.

Kate gave the children one more hug. “Now be good. Go to sleep when Nanny says, and Mummy and Papa will slip in and give you each a kiss when we get home.”

Michael bade his children good night as Kate joined him in the hallway.

“Your skirt is all wrinkled,” he said.

“A mother should have wrinkled skirts,” she said, wrapping her arm around his. “Your mother taught me that.”

His mother had slipped away in her sleep one night. The house near the pond remained unfinished. Kate and Michael had turned their efforts elsewhere, building a much larger residence on a distant corner of their property: Tremayne Convalescent Hospital. Michael thought it a much gentler name than insane asylum. All the residents there suffered from some sort of mental affliction, but their stay was not dependent upon their likelihood of being cured. Nor were the families of those who lived within its walls likely to pay. It catered to those who didn’t have the financial means to pay for such ser vices—and yet the care was the best money could buy.

Kate was not one for collecting trinkets. She’d rather their money be spent helping others. Michael didn’t know if it was possible to love her anymore than he did.

He decided it wasn’t, hours later, when he lay in bed beside her, sated and lethargic. He wouldn’t leave her tonight since they were in his bed—and had been sleeping together ever since he’d recovered from his wound some years back.

As always, she bent down and kissed the scar on his side as though to remind herself not to take him for granted. His wife had developed a lovely habit of not taking him for granted.

She peered up at him and smiled. “Why the frown?”

He threaded his fingers through her hair. “What if my mother’s affliction…what if a time comes when I can no longer remember you? I can think of nothing more cruel than not remembering you.”

Easing up, she straddled his hips and kissed him sweetly. “You won’t forget me.” She kissed his forehead, his nose, his lips. “Will you make love to me again?”

“If it pleases you.”

And in his words, as always, Kate heard the echo of I love you.