Lovers Forever (13 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Lovers Forever
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Despite the sunny day, there was a faint chill in the air, and the fire had been lit and a pile of newly chopped wood laid nearby. Tess walked over to stand in front of the fire, grateful for its warmth. Her back to the leaping flames, she glanced across at Nicolas, who stood blocking the entrance to the room, one broad shoulder propped negligently against the wide doorjamb. He was watching her intently, the expression on his dark face hard to define. Satisfaction? Regret? Desire?
Desperate to break the sudden heavy silence that had fallen between them, she rushed into speech. “The Laidlaws seem like very nice people. How were you able to obtain them so quickly?”
Nicolas shrugged. Servants were the last thing on his mind—now that he actually had her where he wanted her, he discovered that his body had some definite plans of its own. But tamping down his baser instincts, he drawled, “The Laidlaws have served the Talmages for centuries. Sara's husband died unexpectedly when the children were all young, and work was found for her on the estate—you'll find that she is an excellent cook. As for the others, Jenny should make a fine housemaid, and Rose has been trained as a lady's maid—both should suit you.” Impatiently he added, “Under the gimlet eye of Bellingham at the main house, Thomas has been learning all that he will need to eventually become as terrifyingly efficient a butler as Bellingham is himself.” Nicolas sent her an enigmatic glance. “Bellingham is also Sara and Lovejoy's uncle . . . as you can see, we take care of our own.”
There was a wealth of meaning—and promise—in those simple words, and Tess's eyes dropped from his. She wished that she wasn't so aware of him, of the power of that long, lean body beneath its civilized trappings; aware too of the way her own silly emotions seemed to spin out of control at his nearness.
She put a hand to her temple, trying to think sensibly, trying to make sense of all that had happened to her, wondering what she should do next, and trying not to think of all she had done so far. If only, she thought despairingly, she could remember who she was! As it was, she felt like a piece of flotsam caught in a flood, carried willy-nilly wherever whim took her. It was a terrible feeling, and his presence didn't help her. This was all his fault! Resentfully, she looked back at him, and the sight of that dark, intent face, the obstinate line of that hard jaw, sent another of those peculiar flashes of familiarity through her. His hair should be longer, and he should be wearing laces, she thought stupidly, laces and black velvet . . . a sword hanging at his side....
Her heart suddenly began to race, and she had the crazy notion that this scene had been played out before—that she had been in the room before . . . with him! It was impossible and yet . . . the way his gaze moved over her, the hunger she glimpsed burning in those brilliant black eyes, was very familiar to her. With an effort she tore her eyes from his and glanced blindly around.
More for something to say than from any real wish to see the rest of the house, she asked tremulously, “May I see the other rooms, please?”
Nicolas shrugged and pushed away from the doorjamb. “Of course. I hope you will find everything to your satisfaction—but don't be surprised at the lack of furnishings—John was ordered to get just enough to make you comfortable for tonight. Tomorrow I'll raid the storerooms myself and have a few more things brought over for your use.”
Despite the situation, Tess nearly smiled. They were being so formal, like polite strangers, and yet last night she had lain naked in his arms, had felt the power of his possession.... Looking at him, at that wide, mobile mouth of his, she was suddenly conscious of a thickening in her blood, of sweet fire gliding sensually through her body, of a tingle low in her belly, and she was filled with despair.
Last night, she repeated vehemently to herself, was
not
going to be repeated. There were reasons, excuses, for last night, she told herself stoutly as they began to walk up a broad, curving staircase. Last night she had been confused and exhausted—and he had deliberately plied her with brandy, until she hadn't been in control of her senses.... Tess had none of those excuses, frail though they were, to blame her behavior on now, and she fought to bring her unruly emotions under control.
Their bodies brushed tantalizingly against one another as they moved up the stairs, and Nicolas was as aware of her as she was of him. With every step they climbed, he could feel his body hardening, could feel the heat pooling between his thighs. He was conscious of the galling fact that it was as if last night had never happened—he wanted her just as desperately as he had then. The craving that her mere presence created within him was just as powerful, just as compelling, as it had been before he had made love to her. He told himself that his body's reactions were perfectly normal. He'd been a long time without a woman, and there was no denying that this conniving little baggage walking so calmly by his side was the most bewitching, infuriating creature he had ever met in his life—he doubted that a lifetime of taking her to bed would satisfy him. There was also, he admitted brazenly, an exciting awareness that he was the only man who had ever known all the sweet passion she possessed.... And it's damn well going to stay that way, he decided grimly as they reached the top of the stairs and found themselves in a long wide hallway.
Half a dozen doorways broke the length of the empty, uncarpeted hall, three on either side of the staircase. Placing a hand beneath Tess's arm, Nicolas guided her to the second doorway on the left of the staircase. After pushing open the door, he motioned her to enter.
It was a very large room in which Tess found herself. Much like the main room downstairs, a commanding stone fireplace, newly swept and laid with kindling, graced one wall, and a row of leaded square-paned windows, broken in the middle by a pair of French doors, took up nearly the entire length of the other—she suspected that the doors opened onto a small balcony that overlooked the rose garden she had spied earlier. The remaining two walls were of gleaming oak, and with the timbered ceiling, there was a rustic air about the room.
Stepping farther into the room, Tess noted another carpet on the floor, this one in shades of deep green and russet. A charming settee covered in pale yellow velvet and a small table had been set near the fireplace, a huge bed dominated the far wall, the feather mattress heaped untidily in the center of it, a pile of linens sitting on top of that. Heavy gold-and-green silk bed hangings spilled carelessly over the arm of a large, comfortable chair that had been placed near the bed; beyond it against the wall was a delicate marble-topped washstand, a layer of dust marring its smooth finish. Obviously the Laidlaws hadn't finished in this room.
Tess kept her eyes studiously averted from the bed, too conscious of their remoteness from the others, too conscious of the warmth of his body as he stood just behind her. Was he going to demand that she share that bed with him tonight? she wondered uneasily. Perhaps even right now? Most important, would she be able to resist him if he took her into his arms and kissed her? Suddenly as frightened of herself as of him, she took a step away from him and cleared her throat nervously.
“It's, uh, very nice,” she finally managed to say when the silence became nearly unbearable. Noting a doorway in one of the walls, she asked, “Where does that lead?”
“A dressing room,” Nicolas replied, his own eyes lingering on the unmade bed, the image of her lying there naked leaping into his mind. “I doubt the Laidlaw women have had a chance to clean it properly yet, but if you'd like to look at it . . .”
“Oh no. There is no need,” Tess said hurriedly. She cleared her throat again. “And the other rooms?”
Nicolas shrugged. “More bedrooms and dressing rooms, I suppose. Since I only gave Laidlaw orders to get a bedchamber and the main room ready for tonight, I imagine that they are dusty and unappealing. If you wish to see them, however. . .”
“Uh, no, that's fine. I, uh, just wondered . . .” Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at him uncertainly.
Her nervousness was palpable, and it was obvious that she was scared to death he was going to pounce upon her the first moment she let down her guard. Smothering a curse, Nicolas closed the distance that separated them and grasped her shoulders, giving her a brief shake. “I am not,” he said curtly, “an unfeeling monster! I know you are frightened and exhausted right now, and I have no intention of forcing you to submit to me this very instant.” His features softened, and he touched her cheek with one lean finger. “I can't deny that the idea of tossing you onto that pile of linens hasn't occurred to me, but I have no intention of forcing myself upon you!”
Shaking off some of her fears, Tess said tartly, “How can I be certain of what you say—you forced me to come with you!”
“Would you rather I'd left you behind to the tender mercies of the Darleys?” he asked scathingly, his black brows meeting in a thunderous scowl.
It was on the tip of Tess's tongue to shout, “Yes!” but prudence held her back. She didn't really want to have remained behind at the Black Pig, but she didn't really want to be his mistress, either. Besides, he thought she was a liar and was convinced that she had tried to trap him into marriage! How could she possibly find him appealing? Or want to be with him?
A thought suddenly occurred to her. Cocking her head slightly to one side, she asked boldly, “Aren't you frightened of my family? How do you think they're going to act when they discover what you have done?”
His eyes narrowed, and the idea that he would make a dangerous enemy crossed Tess's mind once again. “I'm quite certain,” he began levelly, “that they are going to be very disappointed that their little scheme didn't work—or at least, didn't work the way they had planned it. I think, however, that my patronage, or a generous gift of money, will probably soothe their disappointments, once they realize that I will not be coerced into marrying you—no matter how much scandal they threaten to bring down on my head.” He smiled without amusement. “You're ruined, my dear. You can either take what I offer or leave empty-handed, it matters not to me. As for your family—I'm confident that whatever their situation, they won't be foolish enough to want this affair to become public knowledge, and it they do . . .” His jaw hardened. “As I said, you're ruined, one way or another.”
Tess's eyes blazed, and a rosy flush covered her cheeks. “You're vile!” she spat angrily, her rage at his words driving away the last of her fears.
Suddenly angry himself, Nicolas did what he had longed to do all morning. “Vile am I?” he growled, dragging her into his arms. “No more vile than you, my dear—at least I was honest about what I wanted! I didn't offer one thing and then demand another!” His mouth found hers, and he kissed her with passionate intensity, his lips warm and hungry against hers, his arms pulling her even tighter to him.
The touch of his demanding mouth on hers, the sensation of being enveloped in that powerful embrace, sent a wave of wild emotion surging through Tess. Incredibly, despite everything, she discovered that this was where she longed to be, wrapped in his arms, her body crushed against his. His lips were magic, his embrace heaven. Desire like sun-warmed honey flowed in her veins, weakening her resolve. Drugged by his nearness, by the swift, unfurling needs of her own body, she melted against him, her hands unknowingly clutching the lapels of his jacket to hold him near. For a moment the world spun away and there was just the two of them....
With a gasp, Tess suddenly realized what she was doing and frantically began to struggle to get away from him. Jerking her mouth from the seductive pull of his, her hands curled into fists, she beat against his chest. “Let me go!” she panted, twisting in his arms. “Let me go!”
Breathing heavily, his eyes glazed with passion, Nicolas reluctantly loosed his hold on her. It took a second longer for him to recover control of himself; desire thrummed in his blood, and his manhood strained indecently against the confines of his breeches, the primitive urge to finish what had been started almost overpowering. He shook his head as if to clear the last vestiges of the powerful forces that dominated him. Grimly he looked across at Tess, who had retreated to stand behind the settee.
She faced him defiantly, her chin lifted, her eyes dark with emotion. “I never,” she began shakily, just as if the passionate interlude had never occurred, “
demanded
that you marry me! That was all your idea!”
For a moment Nicolas looked nonplused. It was true that she had never broached the subject . . . but if it wasn't marriage she had been after, why the devil had she gone to such great lengths to share a bed with him? For just a second his conviction that she was after a marriage proposal faltered. Suppose her tale of lost memory . . .
With cold deliberation he shoved aside his unfinished thought. It was preposterous! Of course she was after marriage. She had to be, because to think otherwise . . .
His face shuttered. Nicolas regarded her somberly as she stood behind the settee, his greatcoat still hanging from her slender shoulders. She looked so young, so defenseless, so in need of protection against the evils of the world . . . something tightened in his chest, and he was aware of an unwanted feeling of tenderness for her.

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