Margaret Moore (31 page)

Thinking of Lord Cheddersby reminded her of Nell Gwynn, who had, it seemed, finally attracted King Charles’s notice. Smiling in a way that utterly charmed Vivienne, Rob had informed her that Nell was quite happy to return the fascination, so she could wish them both well.

Mentioning the actress, however, had made him think of Jack, who had disappeared. Not one of Rob’s acquaintances had seen him after that fateful night, so whether he had fled London for another city in England or sailed away to a foreign land, they did not know.

Jack’s betrayal of both his sister and Rob had cut him to the quick, and would likely never cease to inspire Rob’s anger and bitterness and self-reproach. Vivienne had assured him over and over again that he could not be faulted for failing to see the evil in his boyhood friend, yet Rob still chastised himself for not suspecting Jack sooner and more for not helping him when he had first been given an opportunity to rise above his poverty. She believed he always would, just as he would always wonder what he might have done had Janet come back to him.

A less honest man would not question his actions, past or present, so she would have to accept his self-recriminations; nevertheless, she would try to help him replace the worst of his memories with pleasant ones.

She put her hand to her belly and smiled to herself, thinking of something that, in a few months, should help her to do that.

“You look very happy.”

She twisted to look at her husband over her shoulder. “I am very happy.”

“I could watch you comb your hair all day.”

Her heart quickened at the deep, intimate timbre of his voice. With trembling fingers, she set down her comb. “That would get very boring, I should think.”

“It is such little intimacies you miss when you live alone.”

“I suppose.” She moved around on the stool so that she was facing him. “But I do not wish to spend my wedding night combing my hair.”

“No?” he asked gravely, yet with a sparkle in his eyes that delighted her.

“No, indeed, Sir Robert.” She rose and sashayed toward him. “I do not think a virile man like you should want to, either.”

“Well,” he drawled, smiling, “perhaps not tonight.”

“Is it your intention to wear your clothes to bed?”

He grinned. “Not at all.”

He sat up, put his feet on the floor and slowly began to peel off his jacket.

“Be careful,” she cautioned.

Grinning, he said, “Oh, I shall. I do not want to disappoint my bride.”

She blushed hotly. Really, such a reaction was utterly ridiculous. They had made love before. Twice, in fact. And just because they had been married today … “Would you like some help?”

“No.”

“It is a wife’s duty to help her husband.”

“Oh, so you would only be doing your duty?”

“No,” she confessed softly, going closer. “It would be my pleasure, too.”

His eyes glowed with passion as he looked at her. “Then I will accept your assistance, Vivienne.”

She stood between his legs and gingerly helped him remove his jacket, letting her hands slide lightly over his strong shoulders and the lean curves of his arms. She laid his jacket over a nearby chair, then undid the ties of his shirt, so that it gaped, exposing bare skin above a wide, white bandage.

His face inches from her breasts, he murmured, “I had best take this binding off, or I fear I may burst it.”

She drew back. “Are you sure that’s wise? Did the doctor not say you should keep your ribs bound while you are … active?”

“He did,” Rob replied, tugging her back so that she was between his knees again. “But I think he was lacking in imagination. Otherwise, he might have realized that with such a beautiful bride, clad in such a thin nightgown and bringing her delectable breasts so close to my lips …”

He never concluded that thought; instead, he inched forward and nuzzled her breasts.

Arching back, she panted, “I suppose it could be loosened a little.”

He stopped kissing her to get to his feet, then stood still while she lifted off his shirt. The binding ran around his chest and back. As she began to work the knot, his only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as she replaced the binding, now somewhat looser.

There was a rise elsewhere, too, which she could not fail to notice.

He saw her look. “As you can see, you had better hurry with this exquisite torture, Vivienne, or I will not be responsible for what my body may do.”

She kissed the bare flesh of his shoulder as she retied the knot. “Patience, husband, patience.”

She trailed her hand downward. “Do you require assistance with your breeches?”

“I think not.”

She put her hand on the buttons. “No?”

“Not when my beautiful wife should be disrobing herself.” He smiled wickedly. “If I am going to be naked, I think it only just that you be naked, too.”

“I could argue that I could get cold.”

“Do you really believe it is wise to try to argue with a solicitor?”

She regarded him studiously. “Perhaps not.”

His expression was just as fraudulently grave. “Definitely not, and I think this is something you should bear in mind at all times.”

“Especially when you are the most famous solicitor in London.”

He stopped smiling and his eyes lost their merriment.

“I’m sorry, Rob,” she said, inwardly cursing herself for her impetuous words, wanting to see him smile again.

He shook his head. “I confess it is disconcerting to realize that after all my years of toil, I am now sought out because of a man’s death.”

“You were already sought out, Rob, by people who knew you were a good and honest man, and a fine attorney—people you are still representing even though you could have your pick of wealthy clients.”

He reached out to take her hands. His voice lowered to a husky whisper. “You are my good angel, Vivienne. Whenever I have dark thoughts, it will comfort me to speak them to you. I have never had that luxury—that love—before.”

“As long as I live, Rob, you will never lack it.”

“Then there is nothing more I could wish.” His eyes darkened. “Well, there is one more thing to make this day complete, my lady,” he said, his tone sending shivers of delightful anticipation down her body. “I believe it is a husband’s duty to help his wife,” he murmured as he took hold of the drawstring at the neck of her nightdress.

She held her breath as he undid it, then slowly, torturously, lowered her garment until it puddled in a heap around her feet.

He ran a wondering gaze over her. “You are even more beautiful than I dreamed.”

“So are you.”

“I am not beautiful.”

“Handsome, then. Virile,” she said as she caressed his chest. “If I could dress you in anything, I would see you in chain mail like the knights of old. Indeed, my love,” she said, reaching up to touch his cheek, “you are as they were, chivalrous and generous. You tried to help a maiden in distress, even if she didn’t want you to.”

He pulled her into his arms, warm flesh meeting warm flesh. “You aren’t a maiden anymore.”

“And gladly so,” she sighed as he bent to kiss her passionately.

Then she shivered.

He broke the kiss. “Now come to the bed. My bed. Our bed.”

Wordlessly, she let him lead her there and she slipped between the clean sheets. In a moment, he was beside her, looking at her with hot, hungry eyes. “I love you, Vivienne,” he said as he began to trail his hand over the slope of her thigh.

The sensation was delicious. “I love you, Rob,” she managed to gasp before she tugged his head down to her yearning mouth.

They kissed deeply, drowning in the feel and taste of one another, experiencing a heady, dizzying host of sensations engendered by tongue and lips.

She gently guided him back against the pillows. “You are injured.”

He looked befuddled.

“Lie still,” she commanded huskily.

He looked about to protest, but before he could, she bent and began to tease the hard nub of his nipple with her tongue, the hairs surrounding it tickling her nose.

Instead of speaking, he groaned softly.

Aware of his healing rib, she lightly brushed the other nipple with her fingertips.

He stifled another groan.

Vivienne stopped and glanced up at him. His eyes were closed, his lips pressed tightly together. “We have never truly been alone before,” she noted seductively. “I think you may make all the noise you want. I know I shall.”

She moved her hand lower ever so slowly, and his moan of pleasure told her he had heard her, and agreed. More than that, it provoked her own yearning.

And then he reached out to caress her. “Your skin is so soft,” he said, panting as she licked him. “Like velvet.”

One hand stroked her breasts, and her nipples pebbled as his had, while the other roved wherever it could, stroking, caressing, lightly touching.

Every place his fingertips alighted, she burned.

She reached yet lower until she grasped him and another groan burst from his lips. Gently rubbing, she gloried in his virility, a primitive notion that he belonged to her filling her with pride and delight.

Carefully she raised herself and positioned him, then slowly lowered herself. His eyes flew open and he grimaced.

She halted. “Am I hurting you?”

“I … don’t … know,” he growled. “I cannot tell. Don’t stop.”

She hesitated nevertheless. “If I am hurting you—”

He reached around her waist with his lean, strong hands and pulled her lower. “Don’t stop.”

He slid inside her waiting, moist warmth, filling her, the pressure exciting and yet she wanted more. She moaned and leaned forward so that her breasts brushed his chest, her nipples stroking his.

Arching, feeling her hair down her naked back, hearing his moans and sighs, she felt powerfully, primitively female. She was taking him. Possessing him. Pleasuring him. Making him hers completely. Slowly, deliberately, she reveled in every tantalizing movement as she pressed against him in a way that increased the swelling in her own body and added to the urgency she felt.

Groaning, he gripped her upper arms and guided her rhythm. He wanted her to go faster and, leaning her weight on her forearms, she was happy to comply.

Tension—indescribable, delicious and unbearable—seemed to thrill along every muscle. She leaned closer, inhaling the scent of him. His hair. His skin. His body. Her body. Her skin. Her hair. She could not sense where he began and she ceased.

He pulled her down for a fierce kiss, thrusting his tongue inside her mouth. But she did not stop moving. She could not stop moving. Not … until …

She cried out as her own body quivered and throbbed with release, while his agonized groan sounded in her ear.

Her eyes flew open. “Are you—”

He shook his head, smiling at her. “You had best get used to that sound. It has nothing to do with my broken rib or my injured knee.”

Very gently and mindful of his injuries, regardless of his words, she eased herself off him, then snuggled beside him and pulled the sheet up to cover them both. “Good.”

Holding her against him, he brushed a lock of hair from her face. “I don’t deserve you, Vivienne.”

“No, you don’t,” she agreed with a gentle laugh. “My uncle would say you have made a bad bargain, for I am very stubborn and I like to have my own way.”

“If you were not, I would not be holding you in my arms at this moment.”

She raised herself on her elbow and regarded him with an unexpectedly serious mien. “I will hear no more criticism of Sir Robert Harding, even from you—or what will I tell the baby when it is born?”

He blinked. “Baby?”

She smiled gloriously. “Our baby, that I carry even now.”

“Vivienne!” he cried, simultaneously pulling her into his arms and crying out in pain.

“Careful, Rob!”

“Damn my rib!” he muttered, hugging her tightly. Then, with a gasp, he drew back. “Or have I hurt you?”

“Not at all.”

“Not even—”

“Especially not then. I am sure of it. Besides, I checked with the physician and he assures me we may indulge ourselves for some time yet.”

“You sound as if you were very thorough with your questions.”

“I was.” She nestled back beside him.

“I was right. You should have been a lawyer.” They lay still in each other’s arms a moment, before he laughed aloud, a wonderful sound in the intimacy of the dark bedchamber.

“Our baby, Vivienne,” he murmured softly. “I thought I was happy when we wed today, but this … this is even more wonderful. I have everything I ever wanted, and so much more.”

“I feel the same, my love,” she agreed, rejoicing in the strength and comfort of his arms. Secure.

And loved, as she had always yearned to be.

“Is that all?” Robert asked her.

“All? That is a great deal. And I assure you, I have tried to convince my uncle that I cannot and will not marry the man he wants me to, but he will not listen.”

Robert heard her sincerity, her determination and, beneath that, the thing that touched his heart: fear. Despite that fear, however, she was so desperate for her freedom, she would risk danger to achieve it.

She was not a fool. She was brave.

“As a solicitor, I know many things about marriage—and how to avoid it. Come with me out of the chill night air. Perhaps I can help you.”

“If you can offer me an honorable way out of my predicament, I am willing to listen,” she said.

And Robert Harding held out his arm to escort this unknown, brave and desperate young woman away from the dangers of the riverbank …