Vermillion (The Hundred Days Series Book 1) (38 page)

“Finish me.” She ran her tongue
across his lips, catching the sweat at his jaw. “Spend yourself inside me.”
Kate worked her hands down his back, biting nails into his shoulder blades and
dragging with all the effort trembling joints could manage, his skin tearing
free in her path. He sucked in a breath at her neck, tightening against her.

This time when he moved inside it
was urgent. His rhythm was unabashedly demanding, and somewhere her mind
registered that the bed frame hammering away had probably woken the house. The
thought came from outside her body, away from Matthew's groaning, his swearing
into the flesh above her breast. Each stroke jarred deep inside, becoming an
ache that was both pleasure and pain. As near as he was, completely inside, she
needed him closer. She moaned his name, clutching him tighter.

“You mean for me to take you like
this?” His words burned her ear, half formed, tattered by panting. He hooked
her leg up higher, until their flesh smacked together with a sting. Kate came
off the bed clinging, pleading, twining herself around him. She bit his lip
until the taste of copper and salt filled her mouth. Just when the end seemed
out of reach, he finished her with two ragged thrusts that acquainted the wall
and headboard behind her. Her body convulsed with pleasure and relief, arching
until his hips ground painfully against her own, greedy for every drop of
sensation. She collapsed to the sheet in weak-kneed satisfaction before the
moans were spent on her lips.

Matthew fell beside her, panting
almost in unison, eyes closed and smiling like a saint. “Christ, woman,” he
pressed gingerly at his side, his bottom lip, wincing, then shook his hand. “I think
you took a finger.”

Still gasping, Kate laughed as his
arms wrapped her, working against jellied muscles and hauling her to his chest.
She listened to Matthew's heart slow beneath her ear and traced lazy circles
over his tiger.

They were silent a long time, long
enough that Kate, not feeling the need to say anything, was sure that Matthew
had fallen asleep. Warm and content against him beneath the quilt, she was in
danger of the same fate when he wriggled up the bed a bit, putting space
between their bodies. He tugged her ribbon from under one of the pillows, and
twining their fingers together, wrapped them with it in two loops. His words
came soft against her ear, warm and full of love. “Did you know that the old
English tradition of hand-fasting was just as binding as church vows? It
carried the couple along until they could have a proper service. Their vows
could only be broken by death.”

Kate looked at the way their hands
fit together, amazed once more that they were here, together.
He wanted to
marry her
. The realization dropped her in the middle of uncharted
territory, filled with joy and a good measure of trepidation. Then, something
else occurred to her. “Weren't they supposed to refrain from intercourse until
the church service?”

“Yes, but they rarely did.” His
chuckle was lusty as he pulled her back to him. “Some things never change,
Kate.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

He sat up promptly at five the next
morning, not needing to see his watch to know the time. He woke at the same
time every day, at home or on campaign. It had become ingrained over the course
of a decade.

Beside him, Kate sprawled belly-down
on the mattress, dark waves tumbling over shoulders and down arms wrapped
around her pillow. The swell of her backside curved up from the edge of the
quilt. Matthew drew a line with a single knuckle up her spine, teasing her into
an arch. She wriggled, then flipped over, pulling covers to her shoulders with
seductive modesty. He grinned, and against his judgment fell onto his back
beside her, violating his rule of rolling out of bed if he were awake enough to
roll over.

Kate's face turned toward him, but
her eyes were far away as she spoke. “Matthew, you're a man of enough science
to know what's bound to happen if we keep on like this.”

He froze at the implication of her
words. It had not crossed his mind as more than an abstract, and for the first
time he considered serious feelings on the matter. He swallowed. “I am.”
Would
it be so terrible
? A certain measure of choice would be out of their hands
if he got her with child. That could be a blessing in disguise.

Kate's baby
. What if she were
already with child? He would not let himself dwell on the idea, already feeling
a strange disappointment at the unlikely odds. It was hard to tell if she
shared his cautious optimism, or if Kate despised the idea of falling pregnant.
It had never occurred to him to broach the topic until now. He chose what
seemed the safer road. “I would say we are too far into the breach for such a
worry now.”

She continued to lie there blinking,
silent. Her face was impossible to read.

His chest ached, fearing what she
might say next. “Are you ...discouraging me from coming to you again?

“No!” Kate rolled over, slipping
farther on top of him. “No.” Her palm cupped his cheek, rubbing over the
stubble.

“Then tell me what you are
thinking,” he pleaded.

Tell me you do not think we have
made a mistake.

“There are methods, to prevent
it...”

“I am aware. But I have not employed
any of them, and neither have you...” He let it hang between them as a
question.

Her eyes widened, framed by worried
brows. “No. I have not.”

There was a confessional murmur to
Kate's admission, clearly wondering if she should have. She was watching him
for disapproval.

Matthew felt her unspoken question.
He gathered a handful of her hair, pulling fingers between the silky strands
and letting the ends tease his chest. “The only reason for such interference
would be if we feared the consequences.” Hooking a finger beneath her chin, he
pulled her face to his, brushing their lips together. “I am not afraid, Kate.”

Her head fell against his shoulder
with a weight that was more than relief. “I could not do it alone,” she
whispered, “Raise our baby.”

“You could.” He gripped her hard
against his chest. “I have faith you could do anything, Katherine Foster. But
you have no need to. I have told you, I will always come back to you. We are
not two people anymore.”

He held up her arm, his ribbon still
looped at her wrist where their hands had been joined.

“No,” she kissed him, easy against
his swollen bottom lip. “No, I suppose we are not.”

She ran a finger along his brow,
down the bridge of his nose, to his lips. She followed the touch with another
kiss, perhaps the most chaste he had shared with anyone. “Do you know how often
I forget you are a viscount?”

He lifted Kate away, turning her
onto the bed and shifting over her, enjoying his turn to be on top. “I'm not a
viscount. I simply wear the hat.”

She tipped her head back and smiled
up at him. “If we were in London, you and I would never have met.”

“That is not true.” He frowned at
the idea, unable to believe a scenario could exist in which they would not
attract one another. “I would cross Bond at noon-day to make your
acquaintance.”

Her lips pursed. “Is that a
wide
street?”

“Hmm. It's particularly congested,”
he offered.

“Then I am satisfied.” Kate's smile
returned, and her arms slipped around his neck.

He absorbed every bit of her,
lavender and chamomile clinging to his skin, her breasts and hips curving into
him. His finger soothed a blushing line on her throat where he must have done
damage with his teeth. Telling, that he could not remember it. The heat between
her thighs simmered his blood even now, despite the bone-deep exhaustion of
campaign and last night's exertions. With eyes and hands, he traced her throat,
the hollow at its base and the swell of proud breasts tempered by his chest
against them. “It does not bother you to lie here beneath me this way?”

Her laugh brushed his cheek, short
and soft, evening into a contented sigh. “For the tenth or perhaps twelfth
time? Yes, Matthew.
This
time I would appreciate it if you averted your
eyes.”

“You take my meaning,” he grumbled.
He wanted to hear that she was not shy in front of him, that she took pleasure
in his enjoying her body.

She smoothed his neck and shoulders,
his muscles twitching at the sheer enjoyment of being touched. “You know my
soul, Matthew. The most private parts of me. If I've shown you those, why on
earth would I hide my body from you?”

He swallowed hard, twice, trying to
bring back his voice.
How
, he wondered. Of all the men in the world, how
had she been sent to him? There were plenty of wiser, braver men, more
deserving of her love. By some miracle though, it had been granted to him and
he would do everything in his power to treasure it. “Your husband was a sodding
idiot, Kate.”

Her eyes pressed shut. “Do not speak
of Patrick. I never want to think of him when I am with you.”

He squeezed her hand, watching
hypnotized as Kate pulled her lower lip with her teeth. “I love you, Matthew.”

Now was his moment. He could not
imagine ever catching her in a more agreeable, more reasonable mood. “I seem to
recall that you owe me a boon, fairly won in a horse race. I wish to collect.”

Kate smiled, but her sideways glance
was nervous. “I did agree to your ridiculous terms. Name your price.”

“Go to Antwerp tomorrow.” Her head
was already shaking before he finished. “Please, Kate. You will be well out of
danger there.”

She turned her face away, stiffening
beneath him. “Name something else. You're asking more than I can give.” Tears
pooled along her bottom lashes, breaking his heart.

“Please, Kate...” he repeated. “My
heart can rest the moment I know you are shipboard.”

“You cannot ask this of me. You
can't. Do not think in my weaker moments I haven't mulled it over. It feels
like desertion. Of the army, and of you.” She pressed a hand to her face for a
moment. “Please do not make me leave you.”

Matthew choked down the ache in his
chest, hiding his fear with a smile. “I suppose it was ridiculous to expect you
to see reason this time.”

“Have I at any other point?” she
teased, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

“Not even once,” he countered,
looping a strand of her hair around his finger.

She raised up under him suddenly, and
looked around them in the dim morning glow. “What is today?”

“June the fifteenth. Why?”

She smacked at his shoulder,
wriggling beneath him. Grudgingly Matthew let her go, rewarded when Kate rolled
from the bed and donned his shirt. She leaned over her small desk beneath the
window, light silhouetting her curves through the linen. He admired the effect
while she flipped through what must have been Fann's letter, neatly stacked in
its growing volume. There was a tap, and the unmistakable scratch of a quill.
What on earth could she be writing? If there was any hope of making it out in
the dim light, he would have peered over her shoulder in an instant. Instead he
fell back onto the mattress. “How long till you're done there?”

“Now.” She turned and smiled. “Why?
What did you have in mind?”

He reached for the tail of his
shirt, using it to draw her fully into arms reach. “I do not want to go back to
sleep without you. I'm not entirely certain I can anymore.”

*          *          *

He was gone when she woke,
surprising Kate until she realized that it was past noon. Clouds of silver and
slate filled the sky's canopy, chasing off the sun and dotting her windows with
trailing droplets. It was an omen, she was certain, and she ached for the
reassurance of Matthew's arms.

She rolled into his spot and felt
the paper crease beneath her hip. Smiling at the note, Kate forgot her unease a
moment and pulled out the note, spreading it over her pillow.

You lie, in truth

For you are call'd plain Kate
            And bonny Kate and sometimes Kate the curs't
            But you are Kate, the prettiest Kate in Christendom
            Take this of me, Kate of my consolation
            Hearing thy mildness praised in every town,
            Thy virtues spoke of, and thy beauty sounded,
            Yet not so deeply as to thee belongs,
            Myself am moved to woo thee

My Kate,

I know better than to leave you
with Byron.

Will's sentiment shines well
enough, with the dust blown off.

Gone to hqrtrs.

Tonight.

Ever & ever yrs,

Webb

“Taming of the Shrew,
Matthew?
Truly?” He must have known she would recognize the play, and distance had made
him bold enough to risk his jest. If Matthew thought he had tamed his shrew, he
had a surprise ahead. She kissed the signature, bounced up from under the
quilt, and tucked it at the back of Fann's letter for safe-keeping.

Kate looked around the room, out the
window and along the street. Town life was bearable, when she was with Matthew.
In his absence boredom crept in, a restlessness to be back with the men or at
something useful. She could not stay much longer and keep sane. She had been
with the army for too long to accept being idle.

A rap at the door warned of the
maid's approach. Hermine darted in with her tray, and Kate did not miss the
sideways glance and an amused twitch of her lips when she saw her guest still
clad in Matthew's shirt.

While she worked on a piece of
buttered toast, Kate composed her argument. She would present it to Matthew,
during the ball. Or perhaps after, when he was more at ease. She had to
convince him to allow her to return to the regiment. She would be needed there
now, more than ever. With her and Porter both gone, Doctor Hallick had no extra
sets of hands save a few orderlies, and she fully appreciated how overwhelming
that could be.

Once breakfast was done and her
rebuttal was sound, she was forced to invent something new to fill her hours.
Washing, dressing and taming her hair were something, but they only claimed a
small fraction of the day which dragged out before her. When another knock
shook the door, she felt pathetically grateful for the promise of any
distraction.

“Invitation, mademoiselle.” Hermine
laid the envelope at her elbow atop the writing table.

It was inscribed '
Ldy A Webb'.

There was little more information on
the inside.
'Lady Adelaide requests your company this afternoon. You may
dress for the ball en residence.'

She was surprised by its brevity,
then wondered at her surprise. The woman was many things, but not chatty or
sentimental by any means. She was clever and entertaining, and under the
circumstances, Kate could imagine worse company. It was convenient that
Adelaide's message had come when it did, dragging her out into the rainy
afternoon. There was one last gift to buy, and delighted, Kate realized she
could do it on her way.

*          *          *

Kate was led into one of the few
rooms she had not seen on her last visit, a small parlor off the entry hall.
Like the rest of the house, it contained a skeleton of furniture, a few
expensive pieces spread thin to give the illusion of luxury. Kate was a little
amused that there were no longer enough books to half-fill either of the
shelves flanking the high fire place, but a wide-fanned exotic palm entirely
dominated one corner of the room.

Adelaide presided over it all from a
yellow silk couch pushed dangerously close to the fire box. Kate guessed that
it was for warmth as well as light by the way she squinted and stabbed her
needle into a cloth. “Miss Foster. I did not think you would come.”

Kate froze halfway to the canary
sofa. “But you did invite me...”

Adelaide smiled, pointing her toward
the matching settee. “Dear thing, you would not last a moment in London. Being
invited is the last reason to actually go somewhere.”

“I had exhausted all my other
options.” Kate returned her smile, sitting down.

“Good girl.” She earned a nod. “Now
you have the right of it.”

Kate felt a surprising amount of
pleasure in socializing with Lady Adelaide. She had no female acquaintances in
Belgium, or at least, none she called friends. Adelaide gave as good as she
got, without worry of injury during their verbal sparring. Kate liked her for
it and was beginning to suspect that the feeling was mutual.

Adelaide rotated her sewing,
speaking to Kate but only acknowledging her with brows. “Where is my son this
afternoon?”

“Headquarters. There was some news
early this morning and –” She caught herself, running hot from neck to
forehead.
Out-maneuvered again.
“Headquarters, ladyship.”