Seven Nights to Forever (17 page)

Lying half on her side, one arm was slung over her head. The most beautiful sated smile curved her lips. With his free hand, he brushed the tousled strands of her hair behind her ear.

“This will be a bit cold.” She sucked in a short breath, eyes flaring, her belly tensing when the cloth met her skin. “I tried to warn you,” he murmured, as he carefully wiped away the remnants of his climax. Just as carefully, he used the other end of the towel to dry her flawless ivory skin. Unable to resist, he leaned down, flicked his tongue over one nipple, briefly pulled it inside his mouth, and then blew lightly across the tip.

“James.” His name came out on a little giggle.

“Yes?”

“That tickled.”

He shrugged, unabashed, and let the cloth drop to the floor. “That’s what it was supposed to do.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but the smile said she wasn’t the least bit put out. His hand found hers, fingers sliding together as if they weren’t meant to be anywhere else. He should leave now, let her rest. He could certainly use some rest. But . . .

He didn’t want to leave her. Not just yet.

She levered up onto an elbow and cupped his jaw. The levity now completely gone. “I missed you last night,” she said quietly.

Like an ugly snake, jealousy reared its head, lashing into his gut. “As I you. Hopefully I have removed the memory of him from your bed.” At her questioning look, he raised his eyebrows. “You were unavailable last night.”

“How—? You . . . you were here last night? When?”

“Around one in the morning. A delay, one completely beyond my control, kept me from arriving earlier.” Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “My apologies for breaking my word to you.” He opened his eyes, held her gaze. Willed her to believe him. “It was not my intention.”

It seemed like forever as her light blue eyes searched his, but she finally nodded. “I understand. And . . . there is no memory to remove. I was unavailable, but I wasn’t with another. When you didn’t arrive by midnight, I cried off sick.”

“You did?” And here he had acted an arse for no reason at all.

At least he needn’t worry about a repeat performance in the near future. For the next two nights, she was his.

Lifting one shoulder, she made to duck her chin, but a gentle hand on her cheek refused to allow her to hide.

“Yes,” she whispered shyly.

“Thank you.” He gave her hand a squeeze, and smiled, infinitely pleased. They sat in silence for a few moments, and then a yawn expanded his chest, his eyelids drooping a bit. “My apologies,” he murmured.

Her gaze grew concerned, a little furrow marring her brow. She pushed his hair from his forehead and then her fingers drifted down to brush beneath his eyes. “You look as though you haven’t slept for days.”

“Just one day.”

“Why?”

“I was thinking of you,” he confessed.

“You should rest for a bit.”

He gave his head a little shake. “I can’t stay.”

“But it’s early yet. Rest. I’ll wake you later.” Before he could voice his refusal, she asked, “When do you want me to wake you? It’s”—she glanced over her shoulder to the porcelain clock on the dresser—“half past nine. Is two o’clock all right?”

His town house would be quiet by then. Everyone abed. No risk of coming face-to-face with someone he did not want to see. He could either sleep alone all night, or stay with Rose a while longer. The decision wasn’t all that difficult. “Two is perfect.”

“Consider it done. Now come here.”

At the tug on his hand, he lay out on the bed, gathering her in his arms, the light weight of her body so perfect against his. Soft lips pressed against his chest, directly over his heart.

“Sleep, James. I won’t neglect to wake you.”

And with her soft voice drifting through his head, he gave up the fight and let the exhaustion overtake him.

THE
late-morning sun heated his shoulders as he escorted Rebecca through the main gates of Hyde Park. Her gloved hand rested on his arm, his strides slowed to match hers. The pale blue bonnet shielded her cheeks from the sun’s rays, keeping away the freckles that had graced the bridge of her straight nose as a young girl. She had grown up much too fast. It seemed like just yesterday when she had been eight years old and tugging on his sleeve, asking him to play dolls with her.

As was his habit when she was visiting, he had delayed his departure to his office that morning, spending a couple of hours in his study before joining her for breakfast. A creature of London, Amelia kept Town hours, not rising until late in the morning, whereas Rebecca’s upbringing in Somerset had her firmly on country hours. Late nights at balls and soirées would soon push her onto a schedule that more closely mirrored Amelia’s. Until that time, he took full advantage of the hours he could spend with his sister without his wife’s presence.

The morning’s topic of conversation had revolved firmly around the various eligible lords of the ton. Rebecca had spoken with a competence that had frankly shocked him, rattling off names and titles, discounting this one for only being a baron and waxing on about another who was an heir to a marquisate.

As he had mutely listened, the plate of eggs and sausage before him untouched, his concern had started to mount. Yes, he knew she was excited at the prospect of her first Season and focused on garnering a marriage proposal, as were all young girls of her age from good families. But he did not want her focused on a title to the exclusion of all else, simply to fulfill their father’s ambitions. The last thing he wanted was for her to learn firsthand just how unpleasant a marriage formed solely on an exchange of social standing and pound notes could be.

So when breakfast had been completed, he had asked her to accompany him for a walk. He hadn’t been to the park during daylight hours since the last time Rebecca had visited. Then the air had been crisp and cold with February’s wet chill, the frostbitten grass crushing beneath their feet and the trees barren of leaves. Now the grass was lush and green, the trees full and casting fat shadows along the path. The air held the slightest hint of warmth, but was still crisp enough to warrant a pelisse for Rebecca though not enough to push him to don his greatcoat.

“And Amelia has accepted an invitation for Lady Morton’s ball,” Rebecca said. He nodded, employing the same noncommittal tip of the head he had been using since they left the house. “It’s to be
the
event to start the Season. Tomorrow we’re to pay her an afternoon call. Oh, I do so hope I don’t disappoint and say something I shouldn’t. Though today we
must
visit the modiste.”

“Must?” he asked, lifting a skeptical brow.

She tilted her face up to his. She had the good sense to look at least a bit abashed. “Well, yes. Yesterday, Amelia and I went through my wardrobe, and I’m in need of a few more gowns. I can’t very well wear any more than once.”

“Of course not,” he said in mock seriousness. “Whatever was I thinking? You must promptly chuck them in the rag bin after they are worn.”

“James, please don’t think me a silly girl. But . . .” She pulled her gaze from his, her hand tightening on his arm. “I do so want to be a success.”

Her worried whisper held a wealth of longing and made him feel like a cad for teasing her. “And you shall be.” He gave her gloved hand a reassuring pat. “You are a wonderful young woman, Rebecca. Anyone would be a fool not to see you are even more beautiful on the inside than you are on the outside.”

She leaned into him, briefly pressing her cheek to his upper arm. If they hadn’t been walking in the park, he was certain she would have enveloped him in a hug. “Thank you. You are the dearest of brothers.”

“I am your only brother.”

“And I couldn’t hope for any better.”

He may have a wife who despised him and a father who had sold him off like a load of timber, but he counted himself fortunate to have a sister who loved him. And he had Rose . . . for two more nights. Definitely not nearly long enough.

“I . . .” Rebecca let out a little sigh. “I just don’t want to give cause for someone to snub me. Father is counting on my success.”

The very reason he had asked her to accompany him to the park. He stopped and turned to face her, needing her full attention.

“Rebecca, I well understand how demanding Father can be.” The man didn’t sit one down and dictate his wishes with an iron hand. He was subtle, shrewd, just as he was in his business dealings. A line dropped here and there into most every conversation until doing anything but what he wished was simply inconceivable. Even at a young age, James had felt the weight of his father’s expectations, the same weight he worried now rested on Rebecca’s slim shoulders. “But I must ask you if it is honestly what you want. Father will be disappointed if you don’t marry a titled lord.” That was an understatement, but if it came down to it, the man would just have to learn to live with disappointment. “Though he will not cut you off.” All right. That bit wasn’t so certain. But if necessary, James would replace her dowry so she wasn’t left penniless. “And I will always be your brother. Your happiness is what matters to me.”

“I am happy, James,” she said, her large green eyes pleading with him to believe her. “Have I given you any reason to believe otherwise?”

“You are happy now, but marriage is a big step. You will be tied to your future spouse for the rest of your life.” A fact he knew quite well. “I want you to feel free to choose who you wish, and not feel forced to choose a man because of his name.”

“But you married Amelia to give me this opportunity. I do not want to squander it.”

He paused, alarm tightening his spine. He had been very careful to never say a word against Amelia to anyone. It was clear it wasn’t a love match, but Rebecca surely could not be aware of the true state of his marriage. She was aware their father had chosen Amelia for him so she could one day have an entrée into the ton. That was all she was referring to and nothing more.

The concern dismissed, he said, grave and solemn, “The opportunity is there to do with as you see fit. Do not feel obligated to take it.”

“Thank you.” She lifted up onto her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “You truly are the dearest of brothers. But you needn’t worry on my account. While I’d like nothing more than for you to call me Lady one day, I will not marry for that reason alone. The man must suit after all.”

“And he must adore you.”

She giggled, her chin tipping down. “Of course. That goes without saying.”

They continued down the path, passing an older woman in a practical brown pelisse who was overseeing her two young charges. Brandishing sticks, the boys were clearly engaging in a game of pirate. Parrying and retreating, the
smack
as their “swords” connected cracked through the air.

A pang of longing tugged at his chest. Pushing it aside with well-practiced effort, he glanced up to the sky. The sun was nearly overhead. He would need to return Rebecca to the house soon. Preparing for an afternoon call took more than a handful of minutes.

He was just about to stop and retrace his steps when a cloaked figure caught his attention. A woman stood in the shade of a large oak tree next to a wooden bench just off the bank of the Serpentine. The hood of her dark cloak draped her shoulders, exposing a neat knot of midnight black hair. He stopped in his tracks, well aware he was staring and not caring in the slightest. She turned her head toward a blond gentleman sprawled casually on the bench, revealing a profile he knew well. Familiar red lips moved, the same lips he had kissed not twelve hours ago. The rich, feminine timbre of her voice just reached his ears, but he was too far away to make out the words.

His attention snapped to the blond gentleman on the wooden bench. A vicious lash of jealousy bit at his gut, threatening to curl his hands into tight fists. With effort, he tamped it down, determined not to make an arse out of himself once again. In any case, she was his for two more nights, not another’s.

“James?”

Ignoring Rebecca, he quickly looked about. His feet had automatically taken him on the same route he had last traveled. And Rose was standing not five paces from the spot where he had made love to her three nights ago.

There, along the bank, she had been his. The grass cool under his hands, her body hot and inviting and arching in pleasure beneath him.

His muscles coiled, poised to turn off the lane, to seize the unexpected opportunity to be near her once again. But his young sister’s presence at his side stopped him just in time.

Steeling himself against the disappointment, he gave himself one more moment to soak up the sight of her, and then he’d return Rebecca to the town house.

“WOULD
you mind ever so much if we visited a few hells this afternoon?”

Timothy reached into the brown paper sack at his hip and chucked a bit of stale bread into the river. The ducks gliding across the water lunged toward the offering. “Not at all.”