Seven Wicked Nights (62 page)

“As the day I was born.”

More laughter bubbled through her and she covered her mouth with her hand.

Jamie shook his head. “Oh, it only gets worse. Here I am, sneaking about the foliage looking for whichever miscreant had stolen my clothes.” He chuckled. “I must, you can imagine, contain my modesty.”

He held up his palm and cupped his hand, demonstrating.

“It is a good thing you are not overlarge,” she teased.

He playfully narrowed his eyes at her. “I look forward to reminding you of the truth, dear wife.”

Cat smiled around a bite of pheasant, enjoying the unusual curry spice and savoring her husband’s warm regard.

“I could not return to the village,” he continued. “Not as I was. But with luck and perseverance I did find the pair of thieves. They lolled about in the shade and enjoyed their bounty.”

She lifted her brows. “Village children?”

He shook his head. “Goats.”

“Goats?”

“Yes, a pair of goats sat across a meadow, happily munching on my trousers and tunic.”

“But you got them back?”

“It was not so simple as that. I approached the guilty pair very stealthily, of course.”

“In all your naked glory.”

“Yes, well, my glory must have been enough to frighten them, for they quickly scampered away, my clothing locked in their mouths. I chased them and was led right into the center of their flock. The tricky pair hid within their own brothers and I could not tell them apart.”

“Sneaky goats.”

“I chased them all, determined to ferret out the two.” He stopped to eat his pheasant. “Not only did I scare the entire herd but the shepherdess as well.”

“Oh no.”

“Oh yes. The poor girl. I did not see her until the herd separated.” He made a parting motion with his hands, as if scattering the herd. “There she was, all youth and innocence.”

“And you unclothed.”

“Not just unclothed, but flailing about with my hands in the air and my, well, jewels exposed to all.” Jamie waved his hands about, mimicking the motion.

Cat pressed her linen napkin to her lips, trying to swallow her bite of pheasant. This was too funny.

“The shepherdess ran away, of course, and I almost had those tricky goats in my grasp when a gunshot exploded. Bam!”

She jumped.

“I covered myself with one hand and put the other in the air.” Again, he demonstrated with his hands, dropping one into his lap and lifting the other in a gesture of surrender. “Her father had come down, angry and armed.”

“What did you do?”

“He spoke only the thickest dialect. I could not make sense of him, and he certainly could not make sense of me. I was forced to use my hands to try to communicate and, well, you can picture
that
.” Jamie lifted his hand from his lap and held it in the air. “There wasn’t even a rock to stand behind. I tried to point to the guilty goats, but they had hidden themselves, clever pair that they were. I tried to explain to him about the goats taking my clothes.”

Jamie made the oddest motions with his hands, a kind of charade that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen. Her laughter was not to be stopped.

“That looks nothing like a goat taking clothing.”

“The father did not think so either. By this time his daughter and half the village had arrived to watch the scene. The farmer pointed toward his daughter and I shook my head and made clear ‘no’ signals with my hands.” Jamie crossed his hands like a sharp X. “I pointed to the goats instead.”

“Oh, Jamie.” Her smile ached now.

“Yes, not the best choice. The villagers collapsed into an uproar of hilarity, thinking I wanted to abuse the goats and not the shepherdess. The father only grew angrier. I thought for certain I would be shot.”

“How did you finally explain?”

“Finally a villager arrived who understood Parisian French and was able to translate to the farmer.” Jamie dropped his head into his hands. “The guilty goats were caught, but my clothes were completely ruined.”

“I hope they gave you something to wear.”

“Yes, I was the guest of honor after that. It was quite dark by the time I was returned to my lodging, dressed in clothing that was made for someone of a much smaller stature.”

She shook her head at him. “I do not know if I can believe such a ridiculous tale.”

“I wish it weren’t true.” Jamie shrugged, his blue eyes twinkling. “If only to save my pride.”

Taking a sip of wine, Cat considered her husband. Dark, handsome and smiling, he reminded her of the boy she had fallen in love with. But there was an edge to him now, a maturity that was thrilling and startling at once.

I need an heir, Catherine.

The question remained. Was she ready to welcome him to her bed?

Chapter Eight

H
IS WIFE WENT BACK
to her room. Alone.

Jamie stared at the connecting door between their chambers, wondering where he’d gone wrong. His embarrassing story had appeared to entertain her. He’d even savored an after-dinner glass of port as Cat played Mozart—his favorite—on the piano. Lacy underthings and soft skin happily danced through his imagination with each small smile she gave him.

Then he had simply stood there, a hopeful fool, as she bid him good night and went upstairs. That was
not
how he had planned for the evening to end.

Was he to follow? Leave her be? Beg? Insist?

He was flummoxed.

Randy and flummoxed.

He rubbed the back of his neck. A part of him wanted to go after Cat simply because he’d been thinking of touching her all day. Touching her legs, her full breasts, the soft, wet place between her thighs. He would take her on her back, on her knees, every way he could imagine.

But it was more than that. More than lust.

He wanted her back. All of her. Her smile, her excitement, her challenging pride. He wanted the past they had shared, and the years they had spent apart. He wanted to soothe her heart over the loss of their child.

If only he could make her love him again.

Bloody hell, but he was a fool to have stayed away so long. She had every right to slam the door in his face.

Gifts. He would bring her gifts.

He certainly had a lot of treasures to give her. Damn his awkward pride that had hidden the bounty beneath his bed.

He dragged his gaze from the connecting door and pulled the small trunk from beneath his bed frame.

Please, let this work.

His offering in his hands, Jamie knocked on Cat’s bedroom door.

And waited.

“Cat,” he murmured when she did not reply. “Let me in.”

Finally she opened the door a hand’s width and peered around the edge. She wore her green silk dressing robe, her hair brushed loose around her shoulders.

“I brought you something.” The rough tumble of his voice sounded nervous, unsure. He did not care.

“Oh.” She opened the door as wide as her shoulders and peered down at the wooden box in his hands.

He cleared his throat. He did not know what he would do if she refused him. Try again tomorrow. And the day after that. “Might I come in?”

Cat stepped aside and he entered her room, then put the trunk down on her bed. She stood next to him and stared at the box as if snakes might leap out.

He rubbed his sweaty palms together. “Open it.”

“What will I find inside?”

She was so adorable. “Open it.”

It took forever, but finally she released the clasp and lifted the lid. The smallest boxes lined the top.

Cat flicked her gaze up to him and opened the first box. It contained a pair of hair combs. Carved from mother-of-pearl, they were shaped like small butterflies.

“I bought those in Persia.” When he had seen them in the market, his only thought was of how they would look in her hair. Not of how angry he was with her. Not of gossip and shame. He should have known then to come home. “Remember the day we rode by Shepton’s maize fields? Butterflies flew across the crops like living flowers. We stopped for a while to watch. Later, you let me take the pins out of your hair. I think I said your hair was more beautiful than maize silk, or some other such horrid poetry. You laughed at me.”

“Yes, I remember.” Shadows played across Cat’s face as she dipped her chin and studied the combs. “They are beautiful, thank you.”

“There is more.”

Slowly, almost as if she was reluctant, she opened the next box.

“That is from India. She is Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge, art and song.” Cat glanced up at him and searched his face. He smiled, wanting to put her at ease. “She reminded me of you.”

“Are these all for me, Jamie?”

“Yes. Every one.” Her hand felt cool when he wrapped it within his. “I never forgot you, Cat. Not once.”

She obviously didn’t know what to say. She withdrew her hand from his and unwrapped the miniature music box. She wound it up and it played a tinkling tune.

“Switzerland,” he said. “We danced to this waltz together at our engagement ball.”

She pulled her lower lip into her mouth and bit it between her teeth. Was she upset? God, he hoped these gifts worked. Not to bribe her, just to make her understand. “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know how to feel.” She touched the small figurine of an archer, still wrapped in gauze. “I suppose a part of me is jealous that you had all these experiences alone.”

He ran his hand down her arm, stopping when the calluses on his palm snagged at the soft silk of her robe.

“Why did you buy these things?”

“Because I missed you. And I saw you everywhere. And I suppose I wanted to share a piece of my experience with you.” There were still several gifts in the trunk. “They are a poor substitute, I know. But I did not want you to think I forgot about you.”

She seemed to be listening. Hope spread through his chest.

“Like an imbecile, I thought if I just got enough distance, if I just found the perfect distraction, my anger would go away. I realize now that I was a fool. A self-centered, righteous fool. I wasn’t even really angry anymore. I should never have let it go on so long.”

Cat’s lips spread into a smile. A glorious smile. For him. “You said the words, not me.”

“We are in agreement.” He dared to reach for her. “I was a fool.”

He wrapped his arms around her and she turned her face up, welcoming him. “Kiss me, Jamie.”

C
AT DIDN’T NEED
to ask twice. Her husband lowered his lips to hers and she opened her mouth, tangled her tongue with his. He tasted of wine and desire and man.

She’d been a nervous mess when she left the drawing room earlier that evening. Wanting him. Not trusting herself for wanting him. Confused by all that had transpired over the last week. She’d fled to her room hoping he would follow and fearing it all the same.

Thank God he’d followed.

She lifted up onto her toes and pressed tighter against his chest. His skin held the same smell of spice and shaving powder. She drank it in. Her Jamie.

He’d thought of her. All those years, he’d never forgotten her. The trunk was still packed with gifts she had yet to open. Gifts from all over the world. Personal gifts that could only be for her.

She shifted until she felt his hardness against her belly and rubbed against him. He was thick and ready.

Immediately he pulled away and held her at arm’s length.

“Are you sure?” His eyes were smoky, heavy-lidded. “Tell me now if you want to stop.”

“I don’t want to stop.” Passion made her voice husky.

“Good.” He yanked the tie to her wrap and let it fall open, revealing the yellow night rail beneath. Made of nearly translucent cotton, it hid very little.

Truly, she had hoped he would knock on her door.

Now that he was here, she stood tall and let him drink her in with his eyes.

“You always did have exquisite taste in bedclothes.” It thrilled her, his growl.

Laughter bubbled through her as picked her up and half-fell, half-lowered her onto her bed.

“My wife.” Her skin quivered with his words and the hot brushes of his breath against her neck.

More. She needed more. Arching against him, she pressed her breasts into his chest. He lowered his mouth and captured the hard peaks of her nipples through the fabric of her gown.