Tonight or Never (18 page)

Goes with his complexion
? Lord Sexton shook his head to clear it. "What exactly are you talking about, Percy?"

"I told you, Spanish fly—the dark green color; seen it on a few fashions; I believe it's the coming thing."

John saw red.
Carmine
red.
"You called me out here to discuss a—a shade of—of color! That was the intensely personal and urgent matter?" Not waiting for a response, he thundered, "Do you realize that I left my new bride to come out here with you?"

"Calm down, John; when you think it over, you'll realize that fashion is always a matter of extreme urgency."

Several choice expletives followed
that
remark.

John turned on his booted heel and stomped back to the house.

Sir Percy watched his exit with extreme interest.

Although his mouth was shaped in a moue at Lord Sexton's abrupt departure, an enigmatic smile hinted at the corners of his lips.

Still in
a lather
, John went in search of Chloe as soon as he stepped inside the house.

She was nowhere to be found.

He came across the countess in the conservatory. She was repotting some herbal plants, elbow-deep in dirt and apparently loving it. Normally the aristocracy did not put their hands in dirt, but the Countess de
Fonbeaulard
was an exception.
In every way.

Like her granddaughter.

"Have you seen Chloe, Countess?"

"Yes, John, she went back to her room to rest." The countess smiled as she patted the dirt around the base of a plant. "You've worn the poor dear out."

Another man might have appeared slightly embarrassed by such an observation. Not John.

He flashed
her a
look of pure satisfaction.

The countess grinned, shaking a finger at him. "Now be gentle with her; she is not used to your ways."

"I am always gentle with her," he said as he was leaving. "It is my one weakness in life."

Not so, my young Lord Sexton; it is your best strength.

The countess acknowledged the superior quality to herself, placing her flowerpot on a shelf.

A movement from behind the ferns startled her. The marquis revealed himself, coming toward her.

"Maurice! I did not see you there!"

"
Non
, you did not," he said enigmatically.

"How long have you been there?"

Maurice could tell she was thinking about something else.
Something that had occurred several days ago in the same place—a rather revealing conversation.

"Oh, not too long," he replied noncommittally.

She seemed to relax.

He took her around, placing a kiss on her shoulder. "He is like his uncle, no?"

The countess laughed, leaning into him.
"Exactly."

"I was never as wild as him, though." He nuzzled her throat.

"Oh! You have selective memory, Maurice."

"True." He took her face between his hands. "I can only seem to remember the part of my life that includes you,
mon
amour
."

He could still take her breath away. "Maurice…"

His lips claimed her.

No one could be more romantic than a Frenchman.

Especially if he had an agenda.

Chloe lay on top of the covers, sound asleep. A gentle breeze from an open window ruffled both the strands of her free-flowing hair and the white muslin
undershift
she had left on. She looked like some fairy-tale princess awaiting the kiss of her prince.

Well, he was no prince, but he was definitely willing to kiss.

Removing his clothes, John got into bed with her.

Leaning over her, he examined her features as she slept. The enormous violet eyes, closed now, covered in a gentle sweep of lashes; the small, pert nose; the determined chin with its feminine cleft; and those full, soft lips.

Since that day she had asked him to marry her, he hadn't been able to stop thinking of those lips. They were slowly driving him insane.

Now that he knew how they actually felt against him, on him, and under him, he really couldn't get them out of his mind.

There was
something
about the way Chloe's lips felt that was different from all of the others. The instant her lips touched him, he became racked with desire tremors. His whole body seemed to heat all at once with a… a
pleasure chill
.

It was almost as if he was beginning to actually crave her!

So far, he couldn't seem to get enough.

Maybe he never would. Maybe he was addicted to a Carrot.

He cast aside the fanciful thought, noticing how innocent and vulnerable she appeared lying across the bed in her white shift. He bent closer toward her, his hair brushing across her chest.

"Cold," she murmured in her sleep.

"Chloe."
He spoke softly so as not to startle her. She was like a gentle lamb, lying there…

Her hand suddenly came up and fastened onto his hair in a death clench.

As if it were a personal coverlet for her, she yanked the silken mass toward her in her sleep while turning on her side.
Pulling him right along with her.

Pain
was the word that came to John's mind.

"Good God! Chloe, let go!"

She didn't seem to hear him.

John reached over, trying to pry her tenacious grip from his hair. It took a while, but he finally freed himself. Minus several golden strands,
which trailed from her fingers like a battle trophy.

Rubbing his scalp, he stretched out on his back next to her.

Some lamb. She had almost scalped him! He rubbed the side of his head again, this time continuing around the back of his head to feel the condition of the bump there. It had gone down quite a bit and wasn't nearly so sore any—

Whap!

The back of Chloe's hand was flung right into his eye.

He remained perfectly still until the agony subsided.

At which point he methodically lifted the small wrist with his thumb and forefinger; placing her hand down on the mattress between them.

Then
he let loose. He was aching in so many places, he lost track of the count; the one below his waist was by far the worst. All of them, however, were caused by his turtledove.

"
Dammit
!" Already he could feel his eye swelling.

Instead of waking up, the hellcat turned cozily on her side away from him and snuggled back into his warmth. John's nostrils flared.

We're going to nap? Fine
, if that was what she wanted; but he was not going to give her the chance to mutilate him again.

He turned on his side, moving in as close to her as he could get. Wrapping his legs around her, he tightly embraced her with his arms as well until he had the darling cocooned.

There. That should keep him safe.

Using her shoulder as a chin rest, he soon fell asleep.

He awoke to her thrashing. "John, let me loose! I can't move!"

"That is the idea," he drawled, half-asleep.

"What do you mean?" She squirmed about. He released his hold, yawning. Chloe flipped over, facing him. "Why did you—
What
happened to your eye?" She gasped. "It's all black and blue."

He stared at her stonily.

Her fingers tentatively felt around his cheekbone, examining the area. The tender concern on her face was evident. "How did you do this?"

"You…" He paused, noting her genuine distress over the injury. Gallantly, he replied, "I walked into a door."

"You should be more careful, John!" She bit her lip as she cupped her palm over the sore spot. "You have to pay attention to what you're doing."

If he paid any more attention, he would have been
coldcocked
.

He gave her a crooked smile. "I have a good excuse; I was thinking of you, sweet."

She paused in her action to view him. "You were?"

"
Mmm
hmm."
He took her hand from his face to kiss the center of her palm. His hot tongue swept a circle.

Chloe felt his swirling actions down to her toes. "
Wh
-
what were you thinking?" She raised her mouth in invitation.

"I was remembering what you tasted like." His mouth claimed hers in a heated press. Once more he brought her tight within his embrace. This time she squirmed in pleasure.

"Remembering what you felt like…" His hands skimmed down her body, molding her to him.

"And you didn't see the door?" She kissed him before he could answer.

He cupped her buttocks, rubbing her right against his member. The thin cotton did nothing to disguise how erect he was.

"I didn't even feel it, Chloe-cat."

She purred at that report.

John lifted the shift over her head and tossed it over his shoulder. Under the circumstances, he thought he would be forgiven his embellishment of the tale. Especially since his motives were purely altruistic.

Or as altruistic as a rake's motives were likely to get.

Chapter Eight

A Curious Coincidence

They never made it down to dinner that evening.

The countess had thoughtfully sent up a cold collation to their suite.

Chloe smiled when she spotted the sprig of rosemary her grandmother had placed on the tray. Rosemary was a symbol of friendship, love, and faithfulness. Traditionally it was used in weddings, but it also gave one support to see things through.

Her grandmother was sending her a secret message to stay the course, for the prize was well worth the effort.

So,
Grandmere
knew. And she stood behind her granddaughter's choice. In that moment, Chloe had never loved her grandmother more.

Noticing her pensive expression, John lifted her chin with his finger. "What is it?"

"Nothing."
Smiling tremulously at him, she stood on tiptoe to give him a quick peck on the lips. His arm came around her waist and he deepened the kiss. They had just made love for hours, yet he still indulged in the experience of her.

Reluctantly Chloe broke away. "I should like to bathe before we dine, John. Would you mind waiting?"

"Not at all.
In fact, I'll tell them to bring up some extra water; we're bound to need more," he said with a comical leer.

True. The man never seemed to stop making love to her. Not that she was complaining. Although Chloe had no way of judging the meaning behind his energetic behavior, all in all she deemed it an encouraging sign. Besides which, he made her knees weak. One steaming flash of those emerald eyes from under those spiky, black lashes of his and she was ready to be dished out like a side of mutton. Never in her life had she experienced such pleasure!

Already John had more than demonstrated his special expertise.

It was not so much what he did—indeed, they were only beginning to explore that realm—it was
how
he went about it. There was something altogether sensual about John. He had the ability to immerse himself completely in the feeling of the moment.

Remembering the way he had touched her, and moved within her, she already wanted him again. She loved the way he
felt
inside her; strong yet gentle, in control yet willing to be piloted.

He was right—they were going to need more water.

Chloe nodded her head in agreement with his statement. "Why don't you just tell them to bring up a trough of hot water?" she stated seriously.

John threw back his head and roared with laughter. "It crossed my mind."

As soon as the tub was filled, Chloe gratefully sank down into the steaming water. Muscles she didn't even know she had were aching—but it was a good ache.

"
Ahh
, this feels wonderful." She rested back against the rim.

"Would you like me to help you?"

"Help me what?"

"Bathe." He watched her with a heavy-lidded expression indicative of a man who had discovered a treasure that suddenly belonged to him.

Chloe wasn't sure she trusted that look.

"Really, John, how could you help me bathe?"

Her wary response amused him. "Like this…"

He picked up the bar of scented soap she had left by the tub. Bringing it to his face, he took a deep inhalation of the flowery, light scent. It matched the perfume she wore, and he particularly loved that scent.