The Waltzing Widow (32 page)

The warmth of her, the scent and feel of her, were like a shock to him. Unable to stop himself, he gathered her up tight in his arms and kissed her with bruising force. She did not resist, but neither did she respond to him with the passion that he knew lay within her.

Lord Kenmare tore his mouth from hers. Setting her free with such abruptness that she fell back against the settee cushions, he got up and strode over to the mantel. He discovered that he was shaking, and he placed his hands on the mantel for a measure of support. With his face turned away, he said thinly, “Forgive me, my lady. It was not my intention to take advantage of you."

There was a short silence.

"Since coming to Brussels, I have been peculiarly unlike myself. All those years I was content in the raising of my children, and never once was I tempted by any of the gentlemen who were brought to my notice by my kind friends. I had such memories from my marriage. Those few short years with my husband seemed likely to sustain me for my lifetime. But here in Brussels ... It was so like a dream, actually. The gaiety, the frenzy to forget all that might happen—it all contributed to the strange metamorphosis in me."

Despite himself, Lord Kenmare had turned to regard her with fascinated curiosity. Lady Mary's voice had been distant and she was regarding her hands, which were clasped loosely in her lap. He dared to ask, “What metamorphosis is that, Lady Mary?"

She looked up. Her wide gray eyes reflected the firelight and he could not be certain of her expression. “It was the waltz that began it all, I think,'’ she said."Otherwise the Comte l'Buc would most likely have never taken such particular notice of me.” She rose from the settee and went to stand beside him. She contemplated the strained expression on his face. “I do not think that I shall ever be quite as content as I once was. Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps after I have returned home, after Abigail's wedding, I shall be able to take up my former life without regret. I do not know. But I shall have to try, shan't I?"

Lord Kenmare wasn't certain of where she was leading. The only thing that he was sure about was that she meant to return to England too soon. His sister's admonition to him not to lose Lady Mary rang in his memory with alarming relevancy, as did his brother-in-law's advice that life was too short to allow uncertainty and fears to dissuade one from some action.

With a feeling of urgency, Lord Kenmare threw caution to the winds. He took Lady Mary's hands in his own. “My lady, I must speak what I feel, even though you turn from me. I am aware that you must despise me for my past conduct toward you, but pray listen to what I have to say—"

"Despise you?” Lady Mary regarded him in the greatest astonishment. “I do not understand. Why, you have been all that is most kind and considerate."

"Thank God for that! I had thought that you could never forgive me for the role I played in your collapse,” Lord Kenmare said.

"I am not so silly, my lord. Quite the contrary, your forbearance has been most exceptional and I have been quite cognizant of it.” Lady Mary colored slightly at the vivid memory of how she had begged him to remain beside her bed while she slept.

"That makes what I have to say easier.'’ Lord Kenmare raised her fingers to his lips in salute, and when he had done, he did not release her hand. His voice vibrated. “My lady, it is my hope that you will do me the signal honor of accepting my suit for your hand."

Lady Mary stared at him. She saw the burning intensity in his blue eyes and she could sense how still he held himself. He felt something for her, she had no doubt of that. But in declaring himself, Lord Kenmare had said nothing of loving her. He had held her in his arms and called her his “dear love.” But since that night, he had never given any sign that he even recalled his soft words. Lady Mary felt as though her heart was breaking. Controlling her voice with difficulty, she said, “Marry you? I could not possibly.” She started to turn away.

"Damn you, Mary,” he breathed. She had erected that glass barrier between them once more. Fury lent him the courage that he needed. He swung her about. She gasped, her eyes wide in startlement, and then he savagely took her mouth.

His fingers tangled in her hair, holding her captive while he ravished her mouth. His arms pinioned her body, crushing her to him. She was pliant in his arms. Her lips parted under his, inviting him to invade her.

His heart beat wildly in his breast. He knew absolute fear. She had not responded to him, not truly. Not like before. For a second he wrenched his mouth free of hers and stared down into her face. Her eyes opened and she regarded him from the shimmering distance that she hid behind.

"Oh, God, Mary!” His mouth descended once more to find hers. With desperation born of fear, he set himself to arouse her with all the skill at his command. He must break through to her. He must, he thought. Or lose her forever.

Lady Mary felt her senses assaulted. His mouth moved sensuously on hers, teasing and demanding at once. When her lips parted again for him, his tongue explored her mouth with a maddening leisure that brought fire to her veins.

His lips left her mouth to trace down her throat, to the sensitive juncture of her neck and shoulder. She uttered a moan, beginning to arch into him. His hands slid over her hips to fit her against him, but this time she did not resist the intimacy. Her arms slipped up over his shoulders and she drew down his head so that she could take his mouth with a hunger that equaled his own.

At last, at last, he thought, and swung her up into his arms to carry her to the settee.

When he at last raised his head, he said raggedly, “You see, my lady? There is passion, at least. If you will not marry me, then become my mistress. Give me that much of yourself and I ... I shall be satisfied, I promise you."

She should have been outraged; but his desperation came through his words, taking the insult from his proposition. “My lord, are you trying to say that you love me?"

He stared at her. “Isn't that what I have been telling you?"

"No, my lord. You have not said it,” said Lady Mary quietly. Her fingers pulled gently through the short hairs at the back of his head.

Lord Kenmare's shoulders sagged, but he held her eyes with his. “Yes, Lady Mary. I do love you, most desperately and irrevocably."

"And I you, my lord,” she said softly. She pulled his head down and kissed him deeply.

After a moment, he broke free. He had an expression of dawning hope in his eyes. “Then you must marry me,” he said unsteadily.

"Of course I must,” Lady Mary agreed.

He sat up abruptly, pulling her up with him. “Mary, I ought to thrash you. You have put me through the devil of a time these past several minutes."

"Yes, but we have ironed out all of our differences. Except one,” Lady Mary said. There was a hint of rueful amusement in her eyes.

"You will make me a countess, my lord. I do not know whether I can bear to fall in with my mother's—Viscountess Catlin's—ambitions for me after so many years. Perhaps I should consent only to becoming your mistress. Then ... Robert!
Robert!"

Lady Mary's outraged laughter was distinctly heard through the drawing-room door. In the entry hall, the butler and the footman exchanged a glance. Neither would deign to allow himself comment, but there was a faint smile on each of their faces.