Silk And Steel Part 20

Her body tingled and throbbed. Sweet G.o.d, she was hot all over, embarra.s.singly wet and ready, her mind so muzzy she couldn't think. He filled his hands with her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, cupped them, teased them, tasted them. Her trembling fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, dislodging the ribbon that held it in place, and silky black strands slid over her palms.

He kissed her as his hands worked the b.u.t.tons at the front of his breeches and he freed himself, then his hardened arousal pressed against her. He sifted through the dark curly hair at the juncture of her thighs and began to stroke her, gently at first, then more deeply, knowing exactly how to touch her, how to please her. Hot little jolts of desire burned through her and she heard herself crying his name.

Lucien stroked her with expert care. "I'm your husband," he whispered, his clever hands heightening her need for him, "Say it."

Kathryn whimpered.

"Say it," he softly coaxed.

"You're my... husband."

Urging her legs apart, he filled her with a single deep thrust that lifted her clear off the floor. Kathryn clung to his broad shoulders, her nails digging in, her bottom lip clamped between her teeth.

Lucien eased himself out, drove deeply in, and intense pleasure rolled through her. Out and then in, slowly, purposely, his muscles flexing, tightening, her own muscles pulsing around him. Lucien lifted her, guided her legs around his waist, and thrust into her again.

"G.o.d, I've wanted you for so d.a.m.ned long." He took her deeply, drove into her slowly and with exquisite care. She tried to think, but she couldn't, could barely remember to breathe.

She heard his voice as if from far away, low and thick and gruff. "You feel so good... so perfectly right." The words made her dizzier than she was already. Kathryn clung to his neck, her body trembling with heat and need, her stomach muscles contracting. Two more pounding thrusts had her clawing his shoulders, sobbing his name. Her body tightened, then spun away, exploding with such intense pleasure she thought that she might faint.

Lucien drove into her a moment more, then his body clenched and he followed her to release, his long fingers gripping her bottom as he spilled his seed. Beginning to spiral down, Kathryn clung to him, thinking how much she loved him, how good it felt to be with him this way. How much she had wanted exactly this to happen.

SEVENTEEN.

Long minutes pa.s.sed. Lucien pressed a soft kiss to the side of Kathryn's neck and lowered her back to her feet. His body felt sated and content as it hadn't in weeks. He could smell her soft perfume, still taste her on his lips. He liked the way she felt, standing slim and straight in the circle of his arms.

He gave her a last, brief kiss, bent down and retrieved her chemise. Kathryn slipped it over her head while he refastened the b.u.t.tons on his breeches.

He hadn't meant to take her-not yet. He had come to the cottage to confront her, but anger had prodded him and desire drove him to act. Remembering how incredible it had felt to be inside her, he wasn't sorry.

He stroked her cheek even as his mind strayed backward, to other times, other women. Though he wasn't a selfish lover, with the rest he had simply taken his pleasure, using them as they used him and leaving nothing of himself when he was through.

With Kathryn it was different. Every time he looked at her, he wanted her. When he made love to her, he lost himself inside her in a way he never had before. He wanted to give her pleasure, wanted to absorb her into his skin, wanted to merge with her until he couldn't tell where he left off and Kathryn began. Kathryn fostered a need in him he hadn't even known he had, and that need seemed to grow each time they made love.

It frightened him to think a woman could affect him so, yet already he wanted to make love to her again.

He fastened the last b.u.t.ton on his breeches and saw her staring up at him with big searching green eyes, confusion replacing the lazy contentment of moments ago.

"What about the annulment, Lucien? I thought we had agreed it was the best thing for us to do. It's what we both wanted."

"Is it? Perhaps there was a time I thought it was best, but not anymore. There isn't going to be an annulment, Kathryn. We are married and that is the way it will stay."

"But I thought... If you wanted a marriage in truth, why did you never return to my bedchamber? I realize that night was somewhat... that I did not please you... but I hoped in time-"

"That is what you thought? That you did not please me? ForG.o.dsake, Kathryn, I've done nothing but think of bedding you since the day you walked into my study." And even as he looked at her now, her dark hair mussed and her lips kiss-swollen, he wanted her again.

"If that is so, why did you not return to my room?"

He trailed a finger along her jaw, felt a slight tremor pa.s.s through her. "Did you want me to?"

Kathryn glanced away, soft color rising in her cheeks. "Yes. I liked the way you touched me, the way you made me feel. I know most people don't think a woman should feel desire for a man, but I am not most women."

He couldn't argue with that. She was different from any woman he had ever met. It was that difference that disturbed him.

He sighed. "Perhaps that is the reason I stayed away. I was trying to sort things out. Once I did, I realized the best course was for us to stay married."

"Why? You might want me but you don't love me. Why would you wish to stay married to a woman you don't love?"

Uncomfortable with the subject, he reached down and plucked up her simple wool dress. "Lift your arms."

Kathryn silently obeyed and he raised the dress over her head, settled it around her waist, and began to fasten the b.u.t.tons. "Love is for innocents and fools, Kathryn. I am neither of those things. Companions.h.i.+p, common goals, parenthood. Those are the important matters to consider in a marriage."

Kathryn didn't argue, but there was something in her eyes that said she didn't completely agree. He turned away from her, frowned at his surroundings, started to stroll about the cottage. The displeasure he felt before returned with unsettling force.

"I realize you believe this work you are doing is important, Kathryn, but you know I don't approve." He picked up a pewter dish filled with a sticky syrup. "What is this?"

"It's a remedy for coughs I am making."

He held it beneath his nose and took a sniff, inhaled the scent of licorice and something sweet. "What's in it?"

"White wine, sugar candy, licorice powder, allicampane and arnica powders, trickle, and half a dozen figs."

He frowned and set the dish back down on the table. "You're the Marchioness of Litchfield," he said, continuing his survey, picking up a half-filled bottle here, a beaker there, finally making his way back to where she stood. "Fas.h.i.+oning potions and brewing elixirs isn't the way a lady of your position should behave."

"I'm helping people. How can that be bad?"

"You're lucky they aren't calling you a witch, and it remains to be seen whether you are helping anyone or not. Roger Ferris said his wife took to her bed for three days after she drank one of your potions. G.o.d knows what sort of havoc you might wreak on some other unfortunate soul."

"Roger's wife took to her bed as an excuse to avoid her wifely duties. Apparently her husband is quite inept when it comes to making love."

Amus.e.m.e.nt flickered for a moment. One glance at the beakers and vials littering the room and it quickly faded away. "I don't give a fiddler's d.a.m.n about Roger Ferris and his wife or anyone else. I want you to stop all of this nonsense at once."

"This is my life's work. Asking me to stop is like asking me not to breathe."

"Then you may as well start holding your breath. You are my wife and I forbid it. And in case you don't remember, you are the one who instigated this marriage."

"And you are the one who is now determined we shall both remain miserably locked within it."

He glared at her, his expression hard. Then he caught her chin with his hand, bent his head, and kissed her-a slow, lingering, very thorough kiss that had her clinging to his shoulders again.

"I don't think you shall hate being married to me so very much," he said with a trace of arrogance that Kathryn couldn't possibly have missed.

The mulish expression he had witnessed more than once settled over her features. "All right, you want me to stop, I'll stop. But I want something from you in return."

"And just what is that?"

"There's a child, a small boy at St. Bart's. I mentioned him once. Perhaps you remember."

He searched his mind, recalled the night he had awakened her from a nightmare in his study. "Yes, I remember you once said something about him."

"His name is Michael Bartholomew and he isn't the least insane-quite the opposite. He is bright and giving and a joy to be with. He was simply unfortunate enough to have been born in that place, the son of a woman who suffered a brutality from which she never mentally recovered."

Kathryn told him about Michael, how his mother had died right after the boy was born, how Kathryn couldn't bear to think of the lad being raised in a terrible place like St. Bart's.

"He's an orphan, Lucien. With nowhere to go and no possible future. As terrible as it is, it's a miracle they kept him there instead of tossing him out in the streets. He'd be dead by now if they had."

He studied her face, saw the anxiety there-and a desperate hope that he would agree. It wasn't precisely his plan to a.s.sume the burden of raising an orphan, but he had always liked children, he could certainly afford it, and if it gained Kathryn's cooperation it wasn't such a bad exchange.

He made a curt nod of his head. "All right, so be it. I'll arrange for the child's release and you will stay away from this blasted cottage and all that goes with it."

Some of the tightness left her features, but the tension remained in her shoulders. "As you wish, my lord." It was obvious she hated to concede to his demand, yet equally obvious she cared a great deal for the boy. "How long will it take, do you think?"

"I don't know. Probably not too long. I'll send a note to Nathaniel Whitley to complete the matter in all haste." His eyes moved over her, taking in her s.h.i.+ning unbound hair, her disheveled clothes, the blush that lingered in her cheeks. The desire he had just sated rose up with amazing force. "In the meanwhile, I'll have your things moved into the marchioness's chambers."

The color deepened in her cheeks. She might not be the sort of wife he had imagined, but he wanted her, and now that their marriage was fact, he intended to have her. Striding to the door, he pulled it open and stood waiting for Kathryn to join him. As she crossed the room, she took a last wistful glance around the cozy little cottage. For an instant something unreadable flashed in her eyes.

Good Christ-surely she wasn't already scheming a way to return to the place! Lucien clamped down on his jaw at the thought. She wouldn't, he vowed, and tomorrow he would make certain. He would order the cottage cleaned out and put back in order, have Kathryn's so-called laboratory dismantled and disposed of. In the meanwhile, he would keep her well occupied in his bed.

It was time he got an heir. Lucien meant to see it done and the sooner the better. He glanced at Kathryn, felt his body stir, and thought that perhaps this afternoon would not be too soon to try again.

Winifred tossed and turned in the big four poster bed, unable to sleep, wis.h.i.+ng dawn would come and she could go to Nathaniel. The journey to London had been uneventful. She should have waited till morning as the marquess suggested, but she had wanted to be there when Nat arrived at his office. And though she'd reached the city late in the evening, Litchfield's town house was kept fully staffed and her room was ready and waiting.

Thank heavens she hadn't the slightest idea where Nat lived-she might have disgraced herself and gone to his home like some doxy off the streets. Instead, she had retired to her room, hoping to sleep, knowing she would not. Now, as the hours rolled past, she lay awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining what Nat must have thought when she had spurned him so completely.

Just as she had before.

Her mind slid back more than twenty years, to that morning at Castle Running when she was a girl of eighteen, the day Nathaniel had come to ask her father for her hand in marriage. Winnie had awaited word upstairs, praying her father would agree, knowing in her heart that he would not.

"You're the daughter of the Marquess of Litchfield," he had said when he had called her down to his study. "Nathaniel Whitley is a commoner. I realize his family is wealthy-his father and I are friends or you would never have met him. Personally, I like the lad. He's intelligent and strong-minded. I have no doubt he'll make some young woman a very fine husband. But the fact remains, the boy is not a peer and that isn't going to change. You are a lady, the only daughter of the Marquess of Litchfield, and Nathaniel is not the man you will marry."

Winnie had cried for days, but her father had not relented. Instead it was the Viscount Beckford he chose as her husband, and though she loved Nathaniel, it was the way of things among the aristocracy and eventually Winnie resigned herself. In time, she had even convinced herself her love for Nat was merely a girlish infatuation.

But she had never forgotten him.

Winnie closed her eyes against a fleeting memory of Nat sitting in the drawing room at Castle Running just weeks ago, looking so unbearably handsome. I've been thinking about you, Winnie. I would very much like to see you.

Sweet G.o.d, the way she had behaved! Undoubtedly, he believed she still didn't think he was good enough. In truth it was her father who had felt that way, never her, but unless she explained, Nat would not believe it.

Dawn finally arrived and Winnie rose from the bed more exhausted than when she had arrived in London last night. Still, she completed her morning ablutions and dressed with care, choosing a dark blue taffeta gown with scalloped ruffles on the underskirt and ruffled paG.o.da sleeves, the stomacher softened by rows of mauve velvet ribbon. Wide panniers made her waist look as small as a girl's.

Her lady's maid, Florence Tauber, worked over her hair, fas.h.i.+oning soft blond curls atop her head.

"You look lovely, milady." A woman in her forties with a thin face and kindly eyes, Flo had been with Winnie since she was sixteen.

"Thank you, Flo." She fidgeted in front of the cheval gla.s.s, hoping Nat wouldn't notice the faint lavender smudges beneath her eyes, the trace of puffiness left over from her tears.

Flo draped a fur-trimmed mantle over her shoulders, enveloping her in its warm, soft folds. "You're all set, milady. Whatever lucky man it is what's got you so head up will surely take notice this fine mornin'."

Winnie felt herself blus.h.i.+ng. How Florence had guessed there was a man involved she couldn't say, but the truth was the truth and she didn't bother to deny it. She just hoped Flo was right and that Nat would indeed take notice. More than that, she hoped he would forgive her.

"Do you think the carriage is out front yet?"

" 'Tis there, I'm sure." Flo smiled kindly. "I got poor Harry up before dawn to be certain it was ready."

Winnie smiled faintly and nodded. "Tell him I'm grateful, will you?"

Though it was unfas.h.i.+onably early and she wasn't sure Nathaniel would yet be in, Winnie climbed aboard the carriage and it rolled over the cobbles, off toward Nat's office on Threadneedle Street. It didn't take long. There wasn't much traffic at this hour of the morning, mostly peddlers and merchants, freight wagons, and hackney carriages carting pa.s.sengers off to work.

The narrow brick building looked sleepy and uninhabited. Instructing the coachy to wait, she made her way to the door and found it locked, but lifted the heavy bra.s.s knocker and pounded away just the same, hoping he might have come in early.

To her relief, he opened the door himself, then stepped back in surprise when he saw who his visitor was, and a careful mask slid over his face.

"Lady Beckford. You are certainly up and about at an early hour this morning."

Winnie's fingers tightened on the front of her cloak. "I need to speak to you, Nathaniel. May I please come in?"

He opened the door a little wider. "Of course." A look of concern replaced his cool indifference. "I hope nothing untoward has happened. Lord Litchfield is not unwell? There hasn't been some sort of accident?"

"No, no, it's nothing at all like that." She watched him from beneath her lashes as he guided her into his private office and closed the door. She thought he looked even more attractive than he had the last time she had seen him, with his thick silver-tipped brown hair and blue eyes. "This isn't a business call. It is entirely personal. I needed to see you, Nathaniel. I..."

She let the sentence trail away, groping to find the right words, wis.h.i.+ng in the long hours of the night she had been able to find them. But she hadn't, and now they seemed even more elusive.

"Perhaps you would care to sit down, Lady Beckford," he said with great formality, and the stiffness in his bearing tore straight into her heart.

"I should rather say this from right here if you don't mind." She stiffened her spine, determined to set matters straight. "I've come to apologize, Nathaniel."

"Apologize?" His smile turned slightly mocking. "Why would you apologize? If you are referring to conversations we have had in the recent past, it is I who should apologize. I spoke out of turn and you gave me the set down I deserve. I am a commoner, after all, while you are the Viscountess Beckford." Though some might have thought him sincere, Winnie didn't miss the sarcasm in his words. There was nothing about Nathaniel Whitley that gave the slightest indication he was anything less than her equal, and that was exactly the way Winnie wanted it.

She swallowed past the lump that had formed in her throat. "I'm afraid you don't understand. You see... when I said those things to you... I didn't know about... I didn't realize that you were... I've made a terrible mistake, Nathaniel."

"A mistake? Does that mean you have suddenly discovered you are lonely? Is that why you came, Winnie? You decided you need a man in your bed and as long as no one knows who it is-"

"Stop it! This has nothing at all to do with the fact you are not a n.o.bleman-nothing in the least. The truth is I didn't know Emma was dead. I only just found out last night when my nephew chanced to mention it. Until then, I believed you were married. I thought you were proposing some... some sordid affair and I was... I was incensed. I didn't..." She glanced down at her hands. "I didn't think you were that sort of man, and it hurt me terribly to think that you were."

Nathaniel stood staring as if he didn't quite believe her. "You thought I was married?"

She nodded, fighting to hold back tears. "I'm sorry about Emma. I was staying mostly in the country at the time. It must have happened just before Richard took ill. He might have heard, but if he did he never said. I think he was always a little bit jealous of you."

"You thought I wanted to have an affair."

"Yes."

Nat reached out and took both of her hands. "Winnie... G.o.d, I'm so sorry. The terrible things I said. The awful things I thought."