Sally MacKenzie Bundle (127 page)

“Thank God!” She took a step toward him and froze.

He was so big. She held Hermes a little tighter. It was one thing to imagine Alex, to dream of him here, but a different thing to actually have him in her room.

In her bed? Good God.

“W-would you like some t-tea?” She put Hermes down and turned back to the table.

Oxbury had been forty-seven when they’d married—only two years older than Alex was now. But Oxbury had seemed ancient. Yes, she’d been only seventeen, but that wasn’t it, or at least not all of it. Oxbury had been, well, scraggy—only a few inches taller than she, with narrow, slightly bowed shoulders and spindly arms and legs. Back then he’d used stays and false calves and other sartorial tricks to pad his appearance. She’d been startled when he’d come to her on their wedding night. He’d looked like a skeleton in his nightshirt.

She’d be shocked if Alex wore any padding at all, but she’d find out tonight—

Dear heavens. If he actually…if they really—

“G-Grace and I were just having a cup of p-peppermint t-tea. It’s very s-soothing. And biscuits. There are still some left. Grace didn’t have much of an appetite. Nor did I.” No need to explain why she’d had no appetite. “They’re gingerbread—Hermes’s favorite, aren’t they, Hermes?”

She turned back to look at the males in the room. Both Hermes and Alex were staring at her as if she were completely addled.

“I didn’t come for tea, Kate.” Alex’s voice was low and warm, but there was a question in it, too—a question she was not quite prepared to answer.

Why couldn’t he just grab her, take her to bed, and do whatever it was he did in b-beds? Besides sleep, that is.

“N-no, of course, you don’t want tea. I’m afraid—well, I didn’t think—I don’t have any brandy or—”

He came toward her and took her hands, which had been fluttering around her like drunken sparrows. His clasp was strong, warm, strangely reassuring. Comforting. She took a deep breath and looked up into his face.

“Kate, do you want me to go?”

“Ah.” He certainly got right to the point.

“I will if you want me to.”

His eyes searched her face. She couldn’t bear the scrutiny—she looked away. Hermes had settled down in his bed in the corner. Apparently
he
trusted Alex.

A slightly calloused finger touched her chin, urging her back to meet his gaze.

“The servants’ door was locked, Kate. Did you mean for me to leave, then?” He frowned, and she could feel him begin to draw back. “I’m sorry, I—”

She grabbed two handfuls of his soft lawn shirt. “No!” She would have to find the courage to say it. She’d been wrong to hope Alex would take charge. “I-I want you to stay. Please. Don’t leave.”

He cupped her face in his hands. “You’re certain?”

“Yes.” She was nervous—terrified, actually—but she was also certain—completely certain—she wanted him here.

Alex looked down at Kate. She was not acting like a woman who made a habit of inviting men to her bed. She seemed agitated. Afraid…of him? No. She couldn’t be afraid of him. He would never hurt her.

Instead of kissing her, he gathered her close, holding her lightly. After a moment, he felt her arms slide around his waist.

She was so small and delicate.

“Do you miss Oxbury, Kate?”

Where the hell had that thought come from? Was he an idiot? He didn’t want to talk about her dead husband, did he?

Her grip on him tightened. “Yes.” Damnation, was that a sniff he heard? “Y-yes, I m-miss him.”

Hell and blast, all of a sudden she was sobbing. Her shoulders shook; his shirtfront was growing damp. He felt her drawing in deep, shuddering breaths.

“Shh.” He cradled the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair. “Shh, love.”

He knew all about loss, about holes in your life so large you feared you’d fall in and tumble down and down forever. When Da and Mama had died…

Damn, his eyes were watering. He must have got a speck in them climbing up through the tree branches. There was a lump in his throat as well. He swallowed.

He was not crying. Only women and dandies cried.

He stroked Kate’s hair while she sobbed for Oxbury. It was so soft. It slipped like silk through his fingers and flowed all the way down to her waist. Thank God she hadn’t braided it.

She sobbed harder.

Obviously, he was a failure as a rake. He should have kissed her the moment she’d strayed into his arms. He should have tried to stir up her lust—or whatever urge had provoked her to invite him here. He should have got her into bed as quickly as he could. Why the hell did he have to mention Oxbury?

Because the man was only dead a year and had been Kate’s husband for more than half her life. There was no escaping those facts. When he took Kate to bed—
if
he took her to bed—Oxbury would be there, too. Hopefully only as a pleasant memory—a pleasant, very faint memory—but from the way Kate was crying…well, there just might not be room for a mere mortal in her heart.

If Kate still mourned Oxbury, why the bloody hell had she asked him here?

“I should leave, Kate.”

She shook her head and clutched his shirt more tightly. It would take some effort to detach her.

He rubbed her back. Mmm. Her nightgown was worn, the fabric so thin he’d seen the outline of her lovely body—her breasts, waist, hips, even the shadow of her nether curls—when she’d walked over to the tea tray. Now he could feel the warm mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest and the heat of her skin where he stroked her. No dress, no stays, just woman.

A sobbing woman whose mind was definitely not on bed play.

What was he to do? Leave? But she wouldn’t let him. Seduce her? Surely even the most hardened rake must hesitate at luring such a tearful female into bed.

He could only try to comfort her. There was no turning back the clock, no uttering a magical incantation to make the last twenty-three years disappear. Kate was who she was. She was not the young girl he’d lost his heart to. That girl was long gone. In her place was this beautiful woman who was…who? He didn’t know.

He shouldn’t have come. He truly was an idiot. He’d wasted half his life dreaming of, longing for, someone who didn’t exist.

But she felt so very good. And she smelled just as he remembered. He brushed his lips over her hair, breathing deeply. Whether it was sleight of hand or not, holding her made him feel young again, made him believe anything was possible.

And she seemed to need him. He would give her what he could—whatever she wanted.

“I do miss him,” she said. She looked up. Her face was blotchy red, her eyes swollen. She sniffed several times.

He handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose, then looked at the cloth wadded up in her fist. She blushed.

“I’ll have Marie launder this and—”

“Keep it. I have others.” He should find a way to leave. She had stopped crying. She would want to be alone with her memories.

She dropped her gaze back to his shirtfront and put her hand on his chest. “I’m sorry I turned into such a watering pot. I’m sure that’s not what you were expecting.”

“Not quite.” God, he could feel each one of her fingers through the linen. They burned him, branded him…

He should leave.

“Kate, I think—” Damn, her hand was moving lower, over his belly, down to…He held his breath.

She stopped at his waist, but her other hand joined the first, the used handkerchief relegated to the floor. Both hands slid slowly up his body, her fingers tracing his muscles through the cloth.

Dear God! He was going to burst into flames, especially the most interested part of him. He moved his hips back to spare her the evidence.

“Kate.” Was that his voice, so hoarse and thick? He covered her hands with his, staying their explorations. “Kate, I’m not sure—”

“I am.” She looked up at him, her eyes still puffy from her tears. “I wish to seduce you.”

“You’re lonely.”

She hesitated as if she would say something and then changed her mind. She smiled slightly. “So I need company. Will you keep me company?” She leaned forward and kissed the cloth above his heart. “Please?”

He was going to explode. He shouldn’t do this. He should climb back out the window, but frankly, he doubted he was physically able to manage the deed at this particular moment. “Er…”

She looked up again, a slight frown between her brows, her eyes serious. “I’ll be honest, Alex. I know next to nothing about bed play. Oxbury was, well…” She shook her head, shrugged, and then smiled slightly. “But I want to learn.” She pressed closer to him. “With you.”

He tried to think, but all the blood had drained from his head to another organ which was insisting on doing his thinking for him, enthusiastically urging him to get on with it and take the girl to bed. “Kate…”

“Please?” Her small hand found the focus of his enthusiasm and gently, almost hesitantly, brushed over him.

“I’m not…” Damn, he was panting. “I’m really not, ah.” She was tracing his outline now which was growing with each gentle touch. “If you’re looking for an expert”—Oh, God. Her fingers…if they did that again…yes…with a little more pressure…a little more—no. What was he trying to say? Yes. No. He was trying to say no. Or at least maybe or wait or—what the hell—“If you’re looking for an expert, I don’t qualify.”

Blessedly, her hands moved from their current obsession. He could think again. Or maybe not. Now they were working his shirt free of his breeches and slipping underneath to touch his bare skin.

“I don’t want an expert,” she said. “I want you.”

Chapter 8

Her courage wavered. Had she been too bold? Alex seemed markedly less than enthusiastic.

Well, yes, a specific part of him was very eager, almost alarmingly eager, but the rest of him…She started to withdraw her hands from his wonderful, warm skin. She had reached the extent of her limited seduction skills.

His hands slid down to cup her bottom.

“Really, Kate? You really want me?”

She heard hope, need, and a note of pain in his voice that called to her. Perhaps he was as lonely as she was. Perhaps she could offer him something of value besides his physical release.

“Oh, yes, Alex. I’ve never wanted anything—anyone—as much as I want you.” She pushed his shirt up and kissed his hard, lightly-furred chest. Then she pressed her cheek against him and hugged him tightly. She was going to have Alex in her bed. She was finally going to be able to touch him and kiss him, and…and do the other thing with him.

She would happily skip the other thing, but that had always been Oxbury’s focus, even after it was clear she could not give him children, so Alex would probably be just as interested. It was a male thing, having to do with the male organ. She had spent many nights, especially in the early years of their marriage, lying quietly, making a list of household chores she needed to attend to in the morning while Oxbury worked over her, grunting and sweating and moaning.

No matter. It was usually over relatively quickly. And it was a small price to pay for the chance to touch Alex, to have his attention.

He started to pull up her nightgown. Oh, no. She knew where that would lead. She would be flat on her back in minutes. She was having none of it. Not now. Later, yes. After she did her own exploring.

She pushed back from his chest. “No.”

He frowned down at her. “No?”

“Not yet. I want my turn first.”

“Your…turn?” He sounded—he looked—completely confused. Well, that was all right. She didn’t know exactly what she meant, either. But she had asked him here. This was her room. She was going to take charge.

“I want to…experiment.”

“You do?” His eyes looked distinctly wary. “What exactly do you mean…experiment?”

She laughed then. What did he think she meant? She had a very limited imagination. Excitement and an odd recklessness surged through her. She might be forty years old, but she had never felt so young. “I don’t know. I’ll puzzle it out as I go along.” She grinned and spread her fingers over his chest. “You can give me suggestions—as long as you realize I may not take them.” She kissed one of his nipples and heard him inhale sharply. “I make the final decisions.”

“That is not what I am used to, you know.” Was his voice a little breathless?

“I’m sure it is not, but I think I must insist.” She traced the line from his chest to the top of his breeches and felt his belly tense. “I don’t have any experience to speak of in the arts of seduction, however, so I imagine I will need many suggestions.”

“Ah.” Yes, his voice was definitely breathless and a little strained. “I…see. Well, then, please…ah…proceed.”

She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. There was one other detail she should mention. She watched her finger smooth his soft hair, drawing a little pattern on his stomach. She swallowed. This was rather hard to say. Mortifying. It shouldn’t be. He should be happy to hear it.

“Before we…s-start…ah…” She swallowed. “You should know…that is, you’ll be pleased to know…well, you may be relieved to hear you do not need to worry…what I mean to say is…” She wished she didn’t have to say it. He might guess it, of course, due to her age, but age wasn’t to blame in this case. The problem…the difficulty was…

Well, if she weren’t this way, she would never have invited him here. There were only so many risks she was willing to take.

“Kate?” The edge of his hand came under her chin. He raised her face.

She met his eyes and looked away quickly. She couldn’t be distracted by his touch. She dropped her hands and stepped back. She took a deep breath and stared at his shirt which had now fallen back down to cover his body.

“You need not worry that an unfortunate event will occur in nine months’ time.” She cleared her throat, swallowed again. Best just to blurt it out. “I’m barren.”

“God, Kate.”

Was that pity in his voice? She didn’t want pity. Not now. For once it was
good
she was barren. And she was far too old for children in any case.

She was going to be a seductress. She was going to play. She was not going to think about children, about a son or daughter with Alex’s eyes—