Stephanie Laurens Rogues' Reform Bundle (20 page)

She moved sensuously on the sheets, as if savouring the feel of the silk against her smooth skin. He reached his hands into her hair, spreading his fingers and drawing them free, letting the long tresses fall like spun gold across the pillows.

From under heavy lids, Lenore studied his face, recognising the desire and need etched in his shimmering eyes. The realisation fed the flame that burned steadily inside her. She arched lightly, pressing her breast to his wandering hand. He smiled and bent his head. Pleasure streaked through her, leaving her gasping. She heard him chuckle. Lacing her fingers into his hair, she tugged gently, until he looked up, then drew his lips to hers.

He taught her the ways of kissing, how to meet him halfway. He taught her to feel no shame in her wild response to his most explicit caress. His hands were like a conjuror's, roaming her fevered skin, seeking out each secret spot and stroking it to life. His kisses reassured and excited, beckoning her forever onwards, down the path of her desire. She clung to him, seduced by the feel of hard muscle shifting beneath her small hands. And when, after what seemed like an eternity of travelling through a landscape of pleasure, he joined with her to climb the last passionate heights, she learned what it was to soar freer than air, to blaze brighter than the sun before, consumed in the starburst of heightened pleasure, she became selfless, only aware of his heartbeat and hers, mingled, the essence of life.

Slowly, like a vessel refilling, her overloaded senses returned. Sated, sleepy, she returned his soft kisses, barely aware of his murmured praises. When he drew her against him, Lenore smiled to herself, an unconscious self-satisfied smile, then settled, fulfilled and content, by his side.

 

A
CREAK WOKE
Lenore. Puzzled, she blinked and tried to sit up, only to find a heavy weight across her waist. Struggling around, she gasped as her eyes met her husband's sleepy gray gaze—and she remembered, simultaneously, where she was, who she was with, how she came to be there and what had happened. A strangled sound, half surprise, half embarrassment, escaped her.

“Hush!”

One large hand came to cradle her head, gently pressing her back to the pillows.

“Moggs—get out.”

For an instant, stunned silence greeted this order. Then Lenore heard the bedroom door click quietly shut.

Jason caught his wife's gaze, and tried to keep his lips straight as he explained. “You'll have to excuse Moggs. Doubtless he thought I was alone.”

“Oh.” That was all Lenore could manage. She did not have her nightgown on. And he did not have a nightshirt on either.

The effect of her discovery was written in her large eyes, palest peridot, bright and clear. Jason read the message, his lips curved in anticipation.

Some vague idea that this was now how things should be—that she should, by rights, have been in her own bed and he in his by dawn—drifted into Lenore's mind. And then out, as his lips claimed hers and the memory of the night's shared pleasures drew her into the sweet vortex again.

It was hours before she rang for Trencher.

 

T
HE WEEKS
that followed were an idyllic time for Lenore, a period lifted from her deepest dreams—those she had never acknowledged. Her days were filled with laughter and happy enterprise as Jason introduced her to his home. He was never far from her side as the summer days followed each other, sunshine and fair weather mirroring their interaction. The nights brought pleasures of a different sort, an enthralling web of sensation that wrapped them together with its silken strands. And through it all, like a swelling tide, ran a deepening, burgeoning realisation of what she had sensed was possible, what she had feared. But, in that halcyon time, it seemed that no dark cloud could intrude.

 

A
S HE SAT UP
and swung his legs over the edge of his wife's bed, Jason aimed a playful smack at her bottom, naked beneath the silk sheet.

“Ow!” Lenore turned to frown direfully at him, rubbing her abused posterior. As he stood and drew on his grey silk robe, her expression turned sulky. Her lips pouted, but her eyes teased. “Didn't I please you, my lord?”

His grey eyes soft as he gazed down at her, Jason laughed. Catching her hand, he leaned over her to raise it to his lips. “You always please me, Lenore, as you very well know. Stop fishing for compliments.”

Lenore's smile was dazzling.

Jason ducked his head and planted a kiss on her offended rump. When she merely giggled, he raised a brow at her. “In fact, your progress in your study of certain of the wifely virtues can only be described as remarkable.”

Serenely content, Lenore turned to lie back on her pillows. “I had heard you were a very experienced teacher, Your Grace.”

Jason's brows rose, his expression coolly superior, but Lenore detected the twinkle in his eyes. “I will admit that in certain disciplines I have been labelled a master. However, natural aptitude and overt enthusiasm are beyond my poor powers to call forth.” Cinching the tie of his robe, he swept her an elegant bow. “Those talents, my dear, are entirely your own.” With a rakish smile and one last lingering look, Jason strolled across the room towards his chamber. The long windows were open; a summer breeze played with the fine curtains. Outside, a bright day beckoned, yet he had to exert all his willpower to leave his wife's bed.

Turning back at the door, he watched as she stretched languorously, like a sleek cat, sated and satisfied. They had been married more than a month yet her allure had not faded. He found her daily more fascinating, more tempting, their mutual passion more fulfilling. Which was not at all what he had expected.

“You have to admit, my dear, that this marriage of convenience has, in fact, been highly convenient for us both.” With a slight smile, which did not succeed in disguising the frown lurking in his eyes, Jason turned and left the room.

Lenore returned his light smile with one of her own, yet, when he had gone, her expression slowly sobered. A puzzled frown knitted her brows.

Clouds found the sun. Suddenly chilled, Lenore pulled the coverlet up around her shoulders. Had he intended his last comment as a warning that she should not let herself forget the basis of their marriage?

With a snort, she turned on her side to stare moodily at her nightdress, draped crazily over a chair where it had fallen the evening before. She was in no danger of forgetting their marriage—any part of it. She knew only too well that this was her time in paradise—that soon, this phase would end and he would leave to pursue his life as he had before. She had known how it would be from the start, when they had discussed his reason for marriage in the library at Lester Hall. Her role as he saw it was engraved in stone in her mind, but she had determined to focus on the present, to enjoy each moment as it came and lay up a store of memories, so that when the time came to bid him goodbye, she would be able to do it with dignity.

Grumpily, Lenore pushed aside the coverlet and, shrugging on her robe, rang for Trencher.

 

T
HE FIRST HINTS
of gold had appeared in the green of the Home Wood on the day Jason and Lenore left its shady precincts to canter in companionable silence across the meadows to the forested ridge beyond.

Holding his grey hunter to a sedate pace, Jason slanted a protective glance at Lenore, beside him on a dainty roan mare. In the last weeks, she had ridden over much of the estate, accompanying him whenever he rode out, eager to learn all she could of the Abbey's holdings. Yet she was a far from intrepid horsewoman, recently admitting, when he had twitted her over her liking for the slowest mount in his stables, that she preferred to drive herself in a gig. His eyes opened, he had, from then on, taken the gig whenever possible. When he had tentatively suggested he buy her a phaeton and pair, she had laughed at him, breathlessly disclaiming all wish to travel faster than the pace of a single, well-paced beast. Jason's lips twitched. His wife, he had finally realised, liked to play safe. She did not take risks; she was happy as she was, content with who she was, and sought no additional thrills. She liked calmness, orderliness—a certain peace.

It had taken him weeks to realise that he had seriously disrupted her peace by uprooting her from Lester Hall. Ever after, he had sought to make it up to her, never entirely sure if he was succeeding, for there was still a side of her that remained hidden, elusive, a part of her he had yet to touch, to claim, to make his own.

The thought brought a frown to his eyes.

As they neared a hedge, Jason drew on his reins, turning his horse's head. “This way,” he called and Lenore followed. He led her through a gate, then down a narrow lane, turning aside on to a bridle path cutting deep into the forest slope.

Slightly nervous, as ever, atop a horse, Lenore kept her placid mare's nose as close as she dared to Jason's gelding's rump. Jason had explained that the lookout he wished to take her to could not be reached by a carriage. She hoped the view would be worth the journey.

As they wended their way upwards, between the boles of tall trees, the smell of damp earth and the tang of crushed greenery rose from beneath their horses hooves. And then they were in the open once more.

Lenore gasped and reined in. Before her, the Eversleigh valley lay unfurled, a patchwork of fields dotted with cottages, the Abbey planted like a grey sentinel in their midst. “How beautiful!” she breathed, her eyes feasting on the panorama.

Jason dismounted and came to lift her down. While he tethered the horses, Lenore looked her fill, then glanced about. The lookout was no more than a natural clearing on the side of the hill. A broad expanse of sun-warmed grass, protected from the winds by the trees about, provided a perfect picnic spot. A small stream bubbled and gurgled through rocks to one side, spreading to form a small pool before tumbling over the lip to disappear on its journey downhill.

It was too late in the day for a picnic, but Lenore saw no reason not to avail herself of the amenities. She sat down, then, feeling the sun strike through her riding jacket, took it off, folding it neatly before laying it down and stretching full-length, her head on the velvet pillow.

With a smile, Jason came up and stretched out beside her, propped on one elbow, a speculative light in his eyes.

Lenore saw it. She struggled up on her elbows and squinted into the distance. “Having brought me here, my lord, you may now proceed to tell me what I am looking at.”

Jason laughed and obliged. For the next twenty minutes, prompted by her questions, he described the layout of his tenant farms and gave her a potted history of the families who held them.

When her questions ran out, they lapsed into silence, perfectly content, the afternoon golden about them.

Dulled by his deep satisfaction in the moment, Jason's faculties slowly turned to focus on his contentment—at how odd it was that he should feel so very much at peace, as if he had gained his life's ambition and was now content to lie here, beside his wife, and revel in life's small pleasures.

His gaze dropped to Lenore, lying prone beside him, her eyes shut, a peaceful smile gently curving her lips.

Desire shook him—desire and so much more. A wealth and breadth of feeling for which he was entirely unprepared rose up and engulfed him.

Abruptly, Jason looked away, across the valley, only to have his gaze fall on the Abbey. In the past six weeks Lenore had somehow become a part of it, synonymous in his mind with his home. She was its chatelaine, in spirit as well as fact.

Allowing his mind to lose itself in aspects of his wife he found less confounding, to let the suffocating sensation that had overcome him dissipate, he dwelt on her success in taking up the reins of his household. Not that he had expected anything less. Her confidence in that sphere stemmed from experience and all in his employ had been quick to recognise that fact. He had held aloof, but had watched avidly. His wife had a natural flair for command, for organisation—the entire staff had fallen under her spell, Moggs included. He would not, in future, need to concern himself with matters within her jurisdiction.

Which meant that there was no real reason he could not return to town. September was here, the
ton
would be filtering back to the capital in preparation for the Little Season. The total apathy that filled him at the thought of the social whirl, his milieu for the past decade and more, unnerved him. Why had he changed?

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Startled, Jason glanced down to find Lenore smiling up at him. He blinked, erasing all telltale expression. He shook his head. “They wouldn't interest you.”

He would have recalled the words, and his brusque tone, but it was too late. A frown crossed Lenore's brow. Her eyes leached of expression.

“I apologise for having intruded, Your Grace.”

Abruptly, Lenore scrambled to her feet, all pleasure in the afternoon shattered. Briskly, she set about brushing down her skirts, shaking out her jacket before shrugging into it and buttoning it up.

Languidly, endeavouring to hide his irritation, Jason rose to his feet. Damn her questions—how could he explain his thoughts when he did not understand them himself? When they might be too dangerous to put into words? They had made an arranged marriage—he had no right to expect more. And no assurance he could get more, even should he make the demand.

What already lay between them was more than he had hoped for—he had no wish to risk it.

Assuming the faintly bored air he used to deflect the curiosity of other women, he turned the matter aside with a superior, “My dear Lenore, it is not the fashion for married couples to live in each other's pockets.”

Lenore bit her tongue against the temptation to reply. She went to where her mare was peacefully cropping grass and busied herself untying her reins. Inwardly berating herself for being so foolish as to let his rejoinder bother her—for it was no more than the truth and she knew it—she silently vowed that, henceforth, she would not again fall into error, would never again forget that theirs was an arranged marriage and nothing more. From now on, she would keep her distance, as he, apparently, intended to keep his.