The Seduction (39 page)

The skin of her ear was velvety soft. He nibbled on her earlobe, listening to her breath quicken. Slowly, very slowly, he slipped his hands beneath her arms and touched the sides of her breasts with his fingertips.

"Do you think we did the right thing?"

Startled by the question, he stilled for a moment, then resumed stroking her with his fingertips as he brushed his lips along the column of her throat. "Absolutely."

"Are you sure?" she whispered. "You once said I'd make an excellent mistress, but a difficult wife. You don't think that anymore?"

"No, I still think you'll be a difficult wife. But I'm prepared to make the sacrifice."

His comment was so outrageous, she couldn't help smiling, but she also felt panic. "How noble of you."

Lifting one hand, he pulled back the collar of her robe and kissed her bare shoulder just beside the lace strap of her nightgown.

Her smile faded. "I-I'm afraid I will be a difficult wife, especially for an earl," she said, stirring restlessly on the seat. "I can never remember how I'm supposed to address people. I get them all mixed up."

"A serious failing indeed," he said, laughing against her shoulder, blowing warm breath on her skin. "But I think I can manage to live with it."

"I'll embarrass you."

"I'll survive." He slid his hands along her ribs to her waist and made a low sound of appreciation as he outlined the shape of her beneath the silk. No corsets or petticoats, just the soft reality of her in his hands. His desire for her was raging through his body, and his hands trembled as he reached for the silk ties of her robe.

"Must we have separate bedrooms?" she asked.

He let out a sharp sigh, his patience ebbing fast, and rested his forehead on her shoulder. Christ, couldn't they have conversations like this tomorrow? "We don't have to," he answered and gave the ties a tug. Her robe fell open, and he lifted his head to see her in the mirror.

With a gasp, she clutched at her robe and slid along the bench until she could stand. She belted her robe and turned to face him, crossing her arms protectively over her chest. She looked at him, her eyes wide and dark and vulnerable. "I should not like you to have affairs with other women!" she burst out. "I should not like it at all."

Was that what she was so worried about? Trevor looked at her, with her tumbled hair and silken robes and rigid stance, and thought that, right now, any other woman would be a more likely possibility than his own wife. Clearly, this wasn't going to work, and, short of just throwing her down and getting it over with, he was running out of options.

He thought of the gymnasium, and the masks, vests, and fencing foils he'd seen hanging on the wall. He grabbed her by the elbow and reached for the lamp. "Come with me."

"Where are we going?" she asked as he pulled her toward the door.

"You'll see."

He let go of her long enough to open the door, then seized her by the wrist and pulled her out into the hall. Around them, the house was dark and silent.

"Where on earth are you taking me?" she whispered as he led her down the stairs.

"Since I met you, I've developed a craving for midnight escapades."

They passed through the gallery and entered the ballroom. He set the lamp on a table beside the door and turned to her. "You once told me you fence very well, and I believe I should like to see it for myself."

"Now?" she asked incredulously, watching as he lit two of the gas jets set in wall sconces beside the door to give them more light. "You want to fence now?"

"Why not?" He tossed the matches back on the table, took a foil from the rack on the wall, put on one of the protective masks, and walked to the center of the large room, where he turned to her. She was still staring at him in disbelief.

He gave her a salute, then pointed the foil at her.
"En
garde
."

Margaret, he knew quite well, could never resist a challenge, and he was pleased to see some of the tension leave her face. She donned a mask, took a foil from its hook and moved to face him in fencing stance. She returned his salute, and they began.

She was better than he would have guessed. Whoever had trained her had done it well, for, though she lacked his strength, she possessed quickness and cleverness. She used both to her advantage, but Trevor was not worried about the outcome of his challenge. He was far stronger than she, and he had many more years of practice behind him. He could have overpowered her in a few short minutes, but he chose not to do so. Instead, he was content to parry with her, to take a defensive stance and let her be the aggressor.

But his charming opponent had weapons far more dangerous than speed, and Trevor soon found his attention distracted by the enchanting way her ivory silk robe hugged her exquisite curves. He realized his mistake only when she managed to twist her foil over his in a lightning-quick move and touch his chest with the rubber tip of her weapon.

"A hit!" she declared triumphantly, stepping back with a wide smile, the first he had seen all day. "Acknowledge it, sir!"

Trevor was astonished. "How did you manage that?"

"By my superior skill, of course," she said, lifting her foil to continue.

"You think so?"

They circled each other warily, and he noticed how the erotic rhythm of her rapid breathing accentuated the full shape of her breasts. Beneath the thin silk, he could see her nipples, and the candlelight behind her plainly outlined her hips and thighs. He decided it was time to end this match and claim the reward of his victory. He immediately became the aggressor, using his superior strength for the first time in order to force her retreat.

With a cry of alarm, she scrambled back from his suddenly overpowering moves, but she was able to parry his thrusts well enough. She might even have managed to recover from his attack, but she stepped on the hem of her robe and stumbled. He disarmed her, and the foil went flying out of her hand as she fell inelegantly on her backside in a swirl of ivory silk and creamy lace that gave him an enticing glimpse of her long, bare legs.

"Not fair!" she said, laughing as she pulled off her mask and accepted the hand he held out to assist her to her feet. "Not fair at all. You only managed that because I'm hampered by my gown."

He shook his head and removed his own mask. "That won't do. You are very quick to attribute the points you score to your skill. Yet, when I win the match, you immediately blame your long skirts."

"Of course," she admitted frankly. "Doesn't everyone?"

"I have never done so."

She smiled and walked over to where her foil lay. She picked it up and placed both it and her mask back in their proper places on the rack. "I claim that you have won only by default. Next time, I shall wear trousers, and we shall see how well you do."

He watched her reach up to extinguish the gas lights, and he suspected the sight of his wife's gorgeous hips in a pair of snug-fitting trousers would prove just as disturbing to his game as a silk negligee. But he refused to be diverted from the pleasures he was about to enjoy by contemplating those of the future. "Admit it, Maggie. I won, and it was not by default. And," he added when she did not reply, "for my victory, I expect to be rewarded."

She turned and met his eyes. Across the distance that separated them, he heard her sharp intake of breath at the desire she must have seen there, for he made no effort to hide it. But she looked at him without fear. "Assuming that I concede to you the victory—which I have not yet done—and grant you this reward you seek, what is it that you want?"

"I think"—he paused, as if giving the matter serious consideration, and cast a lingering glance over her from head to toe—"I think I want my wife to come over here and kiss me."

She hesitated, then slowly walked toward him. A mischievous smile curved the corners of her mouth. "You only think it, my lord?" She paused, still a few feet out of reach. "Are you not certain?"

His foil and mask clattered to the floor. "Quite certain."

"Then your victory is meaningless."

"Indeed? And why is that?" Trevor asked.

She blushed, but the look she slanted him from beneath her lashes was teasing. "Because a kiss on your wedding night is a prize you would have received anyway."

"Really?" He took a step forward and seized her before she could run. Ignoring her amused squeal of protest, he lifted her into his arms. "Enough, wife. No more stalling. I'll have my kiss, if you please."

She slid her arms around his neck. "I love you," she whispered.

He tightened his hold and kissed her, silencing her silly, romantic talk. The only kind of love that was real was the kind made in bed, and he intended to start loving her as soon as possible. They'd waited long enough.

Her mouth opened beneath his, soft and warm, tasting faintly of champagne. Her hand curled into his hair. She touched her tongue to his, and the tentative contact sent shudders of pleasure through his body. Christ, he had to get her upstairs or their first lovemaking was going to be on a ballroom floor.

He broke the kiss and turned toward the door. "Grab the lamp," he said tersely.

She obeyed, and they left the ballroom. He crossed the gallery with her in his arms, the tap of his boot heels on the parquet floor echoing in the silent house.

"Trevor, put me down," she whispered when they reached the stairs. "I'm too heavy to be carried up."

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and hefted her in his arms as if to test that. "I don't think so."

He mounted the stairs and took her to their room. Once inside, he set her on her feet beside the bed. He took the lamp out of her hand and set it on the bedside table, then turned toward her.

She was staring at him with wide eyes, as if suddenly recalling what this night entailed. One hand clutched the lace edges of her robe. Her hair fell all around her shoulders in lustrous dark waves, and he reached out, entangling a handful of the silken strands in his fist.

With his other hand, he reached for the tie of her robe and gave it a sharp tug. The bow came loose, and the silken ends fell away. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he slid the robe off her body in one fluid motion. The ivory silk pooled around her feet.

But when he lifted his hands to begin unbuttoning her nightgown, she turned abruptly, one hand reaching toward the beside table.

He realized what she intended, and he grasped her wrist to stop her.