A Matter of Temptation (19 page)

He looked over Eleanor’s head at Torie. “Robert will be here soon. He’s borrowing some more of my clothes.”

She was in his bedchamber when he returned wearing only a pair of trousers, his feet bare. He appeared exhausted, and she could hardly blame him. He looked at her, looked at his bare feet.

“Weddington’s valet helped me,” he explained, almost apologetically.

“I watched you out in the storm. It terrified me.”

“Terrified me as well.”

“Yet you kept going back out onto the sea.”

“They needed help, and I was in a position to help.”

“And if you’d died?”

“But I didn’t. I see no sense in speculating on what might have been.”

“Then let’s speculate on what is. You are my
husband, and yet the intimacy between us has not gone as deeply as it might. Why do you not want me?”

“Oh, dear God, but I do want you, with every fiber of my being.”

“Then take me.”

Robert contemplated her invitation as he watched her unbutton her nightgown, part the cloth, and slip it off her shoulders. When had women grown so incredibly bold?

And when had he grown so incredibly weak? He watched in amazement and gratitude as her nightgown slithered slowly along the glorious length of her body, revealing it inch by tantalizing inch, until it finally left her completely bare, possibly vulnerable, stunningly beautiful.

She was exquisite, the lines and curves coming together—

Suddenly dipping down, she snatched up her gown, held it to her chest—

“No,” he said more harshly than he’d meant, and she froze, her eyes like those of the deer they’d spotted in the woods when it became aware that it was being watched. “Allow me a moment to simply look at you.”

She licked her lips, furrowed her brow. “I thought once I was disrobed, things were supposed to happen rather quickly. I thought perhaps you were disappointed.”

“What would I find disappointing?”

She moved the gown aside only a little to reveal one perfect breast. “My breasts are rather—”

“Voluptuous?”

“I was going to say large.”

“I have large hands.”

Her gaze dipped to his hands, dangling uselessly against his sides. At the same instant her eyes rose to meet his, she released her hold on the gown again, and it made its slow journey back to the floor.

She was a temptation.

And he was only a man. Not a saint.

He’d been so strong for so long, holding the insanity and loneliness at bay. Tonight he was so weary. Weary from battling the storm, weary from battling his brother, weary from battling his desires. So damned weary.

He surrendered to the seduction of her voice, her scent, her presence, the blush of her bared flesh. He surrendered because he had neither the strength nor the desire to walk away.

As slowly as she had unbuttoned her nightgown, he unbuttoned his trousers, watching her face for any signs of fear or doubt or change of heart.

But he saw none. He saw only anticipation, and God help him, desire.

Weddington was right. She wanted Robert. The man standing before her. Not his brother, not John.

But him. And while he might not be able to lay
claim to her heart, while all she might desire was his flesh joining with hers, he would take the offering, be glad of it, and make her equally glad that he had.

Taking a deep breath, he shoved his trousers down and stepped out of them, standing before her as bare and vulnerable—

“Dear Lord, but you’re beautiful,” she whispered, and he saw the appreciation in her eyes. “I didn’t know that a man could look so…magnificent. Like a warrior or a god.”

“I’m not that magnificent,” he mumbled, suddenly self-conscious with her praise, tempted to snatch up his trousers and cover himself. In his fantasies, he’d always been in a brightly lit room, both he and his lover bared, but in reality he’d expected the bedding to take place in complete darkness, beneath covers, using hands to see more than eyes.

“You are to me,” she said, dipping her head, peering up at him, the dimple in her cheek appearing, then disappearing. “I can’t wait to touch you.”

Now that the moment was upon them, she was shy, his wife was. And he adored her for it.

“Let me finish having my fill of you,” he said, even as he knew he would soon fill her, but he didn’t want their first time together to be rushed, and perhaps was even a little shy himself. He’d never had a woman before—or at least if he had, he had no memory of it.

That had been the purpose of his last celebration, the last night before Pentonville, when he and his brother were to cross over into the debauchery of adulthood with wine and women and gambling. The wine and gambling he remembered. The women…he was fairly certain he’d been drugged by then, and if he’d performed, he had little doubt that he’d performed miserably.

He wanted this moment with Torie to be perfection, because he suspected that it would be a first for her as well. The blush on her cheeks traveled down to the gentle swell of her breasts. Even as he gazed on her, noting all the dips and curves, he was well aware that she was taking note of his body as well.

“Are you nervous?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Frightened?”

She shook her head.

“I guess it’s a good thing that one of us isn’t.”

“Why would you be frightened?” she asked.

He was terrified, actually, of doing it wrong, of not making it good for her.

“I know a woman experiences some pain. I don’t want to hurt you, and I’m afraid in my effort to spare you discomfort that I’ll be clumsy and awkward—”

Reaching out, she pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him, while at the same time igniting the fires of his desire. Her eyes were locked on his, and he wondered if she could see clear into his soul.

The dimple appeared in her cheek. “Why is it that you so seldom talk, until now, when I’d rather you didn’t. I’m fairly certain that I’m coming to love you.”

“Oh, dear God.” He thought he might have dropped to his knees, and if he’d not pulled her to him, latched his mouth onto hers, and held her there for support, he very well might have.

How he’d yearned for this moment. For eight long years he’d envisioned it, dreamed of it, imagined it, but nothing had prepared him for the reality of a woman’s bare flesh pressed against his from shoulder to heel. And not just any woman. Not a woman he’d paid for or a servant he’d coerced…but a woman who possibly cared for him. She was fairly certain. What would it take to make her completely certain?

As certain as he was. He loved her. If she’d never granted this moment, he still would have loved her. He loved her smile and the tiny dimple. He loved her laughter and the wonder in her eyes when she gazed upon a fawn.

She made silence bearable. He was content to simply be with her, but to have more, to have this…

It was all his heart desired. And he would protect it unto the death. He would find a way to prove his claims, he would find a way to keep John from being a future threat.

When he could think clearly. When his mind wasn’t lost in the sensations of her. Because he
was lost, lost in the wonder of her, the silkiness of her skin against his, the softness of her breasts flattened against his chest, the wonder of her hands running over his shoulders, his back as he kissed her and she kissed him.

Without removing his mouth from hers, he tumbled them onto the bed, a tangle of arms and legs that quickly settled around the other, to hold that person near. She was where she belonged: beneath him, her hair spread out across the pillows.

And he thought he might be where he belonged. He lifted his head, gazed into her eyes, and felt his confidence come to the foreground. He would make this good for her. He would.

Torie saw something shift in his gaze. A determination she couldn’t explain. She ran her hands up into his hair, over his broad shoulders.

He was right where he belonged. Nestled between her thighs. Raised up on his elbows, gazing down on her with a feral intensity. Then she could no longer see his eyes because he’d dipped his head, a quicksilver kiss against her mouth before he pushed himself down and delivered a more leisurely kiss to her breast.

His tongue circled even as he suckled, and she thought this was decadent even as she didn’t want him to stop. She combed her hands through his hair, holding him close, relishing his touch as much as he was relishing hers.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as he trailed his mouth from one breast to the other, his
fingers stroking the underside while his lips and tongue saw to the needs elsewhere.

He grazed his hand down her side, down the inside of her thigh, then over to the very heart of her womanhood.

She thought she should have been shocked, appalled, but it all seemed so right, so perfect, and so incredibly stimulating. Her body arched against his hand as though it knew better than she what was required to end this aching that had begun deep within her. And it did know better, because all she knew was that she relished his touch, wanted it on every inch of her skin.

His fingers stroked her intimately, and she released a tiny whimper.

He moved up. “Soon, Torie, soon.” He kissed her and as his tongue slid into her mouth, so he began to slide into her. She was ready for him, so ready for him.

As he plunged fully into her, the pain she’d always heard she’d experience was nothing as she expected. Just a quick burst of awareness that the barrier had been breached, that she was now well and truly his wife.

He buried his face in the curve of her neck. “You feel so remarkably good,” he rasped. “Like hot velvet.”

She heard him swallow, felt hot moisture land against her skin. A droplet of sweat, she was certain, because his back had grown damp with the dew of perspiration. Not tears. Not an over
whelming of gratitude that they’d finally come together.

So still, he was so still as though he was absorbing the moment, the sensations, sensations that seemed to be hovering. Was this it, then? A coming together that seemed to require more…

He slowly began to rain kisses over her face, her throat, her shoulders. Then he started to move inside her, slowly at first, long strokes that stretched and filled her…

He rose above her, quickening his pace. An urgency that hadn’t been there before. His face contorted with his concentration, his eyes holding hers, the intensity feral, almost frightening.

She held on to him as he rode her, she rode him, the sensations building, building until she thought she might burst…

And when she finally did, the world exploded around her.

Her husband exploded within her.

And she thought that nothing would ever again be the same.

Robert had always known that he’d been denied a good many things, but the true extent of what he’d been without had been an elusive mystery now solved. As he lay with Torie nestled against him, his hand idly stroking her bare side, the reality of his brother’s cruelty became crystal-clear.

Prison was for felons, criminals, those who stole and cheated and murdered. Robert had
done nothing to deserve his incarceration, and although he’d always known that fact, the anger burning in him now as a result of the injustice was almost frightening.

He wanted swift revenge, and even as he thought that, he grew weary and realized he truly wanted only that it be over. That he be free to live out his life with Torie in peace.

But how to achieve that goal still remained beyond his grasp.

And he had little doubt that John would see the situation very differently, John, who had courted her, asked for her hand in marriage. John, the man she was to marry.

He tried to ease the guilt that now swamped him with the realization of exactly what he’d done. He reminded himself that she’d told him she had doubts about marrying the duke. He told himself that tonight all her doubts seemed to have vanished like fog touched by the sun.

She’d wanted him. She cared for him.

And he couldn’t deny that he cared for her. Desperately.

The storm still raged outside, the lightning flashing, the thunder crashing, but here was a safe haven, comfort and warmth.

“Where do you go?”

He rolled his head slightly and gazed down on his wife. “Pardon?”

“I can see from the look on your face that you’re no longer here with me.”

“I was just thinking about how very fortunate I am to have you in my life. And everything I would do to keep you there.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard of a task—keeping me here. I’m fond of chocolates, flowers, and pearls.”

He grinned. “So you can be bribed.”

She snuggled up closer against him, trailing her fingers over his chest. “Did I never mention that?”

“I don’t believe you did.”

“I must have at some point or else you know me very, very well. You gave me the pearl necklace and bracelet I wore the day I married you.”

He was grateful her face was down so she couldn’t see the look that must have crossed his face. Always, always there would be things he didn’t know. Always there was the chance she would discover the truth.

He should confess now, while she lay sated and content in his arms. Tell her he was not the man she thought he was. But he couldn’t bring himself to utter the truth, to ruin her contentment—or his.

Tomorrow, tomorrow he would tell her everything.

“D
espite your protests to the contrary, I can tell that you jolly well did take my advice last night.”

Standing by the coach, waiting as his wife said good-bye to Eleanor, Robert blatantly ignored his friend.

It was mid-afternoon; the rain had cleared off and the gray skies had turned blue. After all the rescuing they’d done last night, he and Weddington had slept until only an hour or so ago. Robert would have gladly never left the bed because Torie had been in it, sleeping beside him. He loved watching the way she slept.

She had a little habit of rubbing her feet together throughout the night. He wondered if that
was the reason husbands and wives slept in separate beds, although he had to acknowledge that he’d welcome any evidence of her nearness, had found her small actions comforting.

“No comment?” Weddington asked.

“I’d never realized what a vexing friend you are.”

“A helpful one as well. I want you to take these with you.”

Robert glanced down to the wooden box Weddington was extending toward him. “I don’t see myself engaging in any more duels, thank you very much. They upset Torie too much.”

“Not a duel, necessarily. A means of protection. You escaped Pentonville. Your brother could as well. He’s just as clever as you are.”

Robert couldn’t deny that. In some ways, perhaps more so.

“Did you tell her the truth of your situation?” Weddington asked.

Robert grimaced, not proud of the answer he was forced to give. “No.”

“I doubt it would matter to her,” Weddington said.

How could it not? Robert wondered.

“Eleanor likes her,” Weddington said.

“She likes Eleanor.”

It wasn’t long after that Torie was finally ready for them to take their leave. Robert bid Weddington good-bye and climbed into the coach after Torie, sitting beside her. She gave him a shy
smile. He took her hand. The coach began its journey along the road leading away from Drummond Manor. Robert held off as long as he could. Then he could hold off no longer.

Torie was beginning to recognize when unbridled desire was taking hold of her husband, but after last night he had no more reason to hold back, and so he didn’t.

His mouth was on hers, insistent, demanding, but not frightening. There was such goodness in him, such care. And such passion.

It began like a match held aloft, the flame just a flicker of light, but then it blazed into a conflagration, like a bonfire on a winter night that burned so brightly there was no holding it back. She wanted his kiss, his touch. She wanted everything.

He dragged her onto his lap so he could have easier access to her, holding her close, deepening the kiss, his hands making a mess of her hair. And she didn’t care.

He tossed her hat to the other seat, and she assumed the pin went with it, and thought of his reaction when he’d sat on it before. Only she didn’t laugh. She couldn’t laugh, because she barely had the breath in her to survive the onslaught of passion.

She wanted him, wanted him desperately.

She heard pins clinking as they hit the floor of the coach, then her hair was tumbling around her.

“Oh, God, Torie, I shouldn’t have begun what I can’t finish.” He was breathing harshly, his
mouth burning along her throat as he popped buttons free.

“You can finish.”

“No, not here, not in a coach. I want you in a bed, beneath me. I want us completely naked. I want it all. But it will be sweet, sweet torture to wait.”

She so agreed. She was hot, and everywhere he touched blazed hotter.

“How much farther?” she asked, her voice raspy with desire.

“An hour, I think. No more. Perhaps a bit less.”

“Then let’s just torment each other until then.”

And he was exquisite at tormenting her. He peeled back her bodice, kissing each bit of flesh that became visible, touching, stroking, holding. When he lowered his head and closed his mouth over her breast, she nearly came off his lap.

She wanted him to stop, wanted him to continue, wanted him to find them a bed. Now! Right this instant.

She returned the favor, unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his chest, tasting the saltiness of his skin. He moaned her name, and his fingers tightened on her breasts. She could feel the hardness of him against her hip and she thought if she just hiked up her skirts, if she just twisted around, simply straddled him, that the intimate part of her that was screaming for attention could find it with the part of him that was demanding it.

It was instinctual, this wanting to come together. As though she would perish if they didn’t. And yet even as she considered all the gyrations that would be required to make it happen, she realized that he was right.

Not here in the coach, all twisted about, bouncing along.

The coach began to slow. He jerked away from her, glanced out the window.

“Thank God, we’re here. Let’s get you put back to rights.”

She’d just finished buttoning her bodice, he’d just finished buttoning his shirt, when the coach stopped and the footman opened the door. The man’s expression changed not one iota as he helped his disheveled master and mistress alight from the coach.

Torie’s hair was still undone, her hat on the seat, but she didn’t care. Robert reached down, lifted her into his arms, and headed toward the house. She buried her face against the warmth of his neck. “I can walk, you know.”

“I like carrying you.”

He hurried up the stairs, his steps sure. The door opened before he was there.

“It’s good to have you home, Your Grace,” Whitney said.

“Good to be home,” he replied, without stopping, heading for the sweeping staircase that would take them to the family wing. “Tell Mrs. Cuddleworthy the duchess and I shall eat in our
chambers this evening, but until I ring we don’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Very good, Your Grace.”

“Robert, the servants are going to talk.”

“Let them.”

“Why do you always close your eyes when we make love?”

Lying atop her husband, Torie pressed her face to his chest so he wouldn’t see her embarrassment. “I don’t
always
.”

“Nearly always.”

“Don’t you close your eyes?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“Hardly ever.”

Once they’d divested themselves of their clothing, neither had been in a mood to put anything back on. They’d been in his bedchamber all afternoon, all evening. They’d had dinner brought here and eaten in decadent nakedness.

“Why?” he asked again. “Why do you close yours?”

Raising her head, she dug her chin into his chest bone.

“Ow!” He slipped his hand beneath her chin to stop the pressure. “What did you do that for?”

“Because your question is too personal.”

“Too personal? How can anything between us be too personal after all that we’ve done this afternoon?”

She couldn’t deny that he made a rather compelling point. He was quite the adventurer. She didn’t think they’d yet made love in precisely the same position twice. He’d slipped pillows beneath her to raise her hips to alter the angle of his entry. Once they’d made love sitting in a chair. Once standing up.

He seemed insatiable, her husband.

Holding the ends of her hair, he tickled her nose. “Come on, Torie. Tell me why you close your eyes.”

She released a quick, impatient burst of breath. “Because it’s too personal to actually watch what we’re doing. I can tell what we’re doing without looking.”

“I like watching.”

“You’re perverted. I’ve married a pervert.”

“I’m not perverted. I’m interested. I’m curious. If I closed my eyes I wouldn’t be able to see the blush that creeps over you from your hairline down to your tiniest toe when rapture sweeps over you.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure it’s my blush that holds your interest.”

“I want you to watch next time.”

“Is there going to be a next time?”

He gave her a wicked grin, and she felt a nudge against her backside.

Returning his smile, she said, “Well, yes, I suppose there will be.”

“Watch this time.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know. Just the thought of you watching, though…well, you can feel how it affects me.”

“I don’t think I can watch. Besides, my eyes aren’t always closed.”

“They are once I’m inside you.”

“How can you say that so casually?”

“How would you prefer I say it?”

“I’d prefer that you not.”

He reached down and patted her bottom. “Get up.”

“I thought we were going—”

“We will. I need to do something first.”

She rolled off him and pulled the sheet up to her breasts.

“No, you can’t have that,” he said. “I need it.”

He tugged the sheet free of her and began tying one corner to the top of the bedpost.

“What are you doing?” she asked, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them.

“You’ll see.” He tied another corner to the other post.

A wall of white was to her right by the time he came around, shoving a table in front of him, moving the bedside table forward, positioning lamps…

Then he stood, his feet spread, his hands on his hips, a look of keen satisfaction on his face. “That should work.”

She turned her attention to where he was look
ing and saw the shadowy silhouette of a woman sitting on the bed.

“Oh, no,” she said, releasing her legs and scrambling for the end of the bed.

He grabbed her ankle, stilling her before pulling her back to him. Grabbing the other ankle, spreading her legs, wrapping them around his hips, he lowered himself, pinning her in place. “I thought you liked shadow games.”

“I like watching what you do with your hands.”

A look of pure masculine triumph reshaped his features. “Oh, I shall definitely do something with my hands.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She sounded breathless, unable to believe that she was already so incredibly aroused.

Flattening his palm against her cheek, he urged her, “Look, Torie, it’s not so wicked.”

She followed his gaze, wishing she had the strength to resist, but her curiosity getting the better of her. And there they were: two shadows, a woman on her back, a man raised up above her.

“It looks like you’re inside me, but you’re not.”

“Noticed that I’m not inside you, did you?”

“It’s a little hard to miss when you are.”

He grinned. “Why can you tease me with words, seem so comfortable with the banter, but have no interest in watching?”

“I don’t know.”

She looked back at the shadows. “It seems rather boring, doesn’t it?”

She watched as the shadow above lowered itself, then she felt Robert nipping at the sensitive flesh below her ear.

“Still boring?” he asked in a low voice that caused her body to tighten.

She felt his tongue lapping at her skin.

“Still boring?”

“No,” she breathed, her eyes slowly closing.

“Don’t close your eyes. Just watch the shadows.”

Watch the shadows. Watch the shadows.

She watched as the man rose up on his knees, his shoulders back, his sword at the ready. She watched as the lady eased up slightly, ran her hands up the man’s thighs, up his stomach, up his chest, and down, down, laying claim to that which he offered.

The shadow quivered, the man’s head dropped back, and his throaty growl reverberated between them. He raised his fists, and she watched as the woman’s hands glided over him, cupping him and stroking him, some aspects clear, others blurred, shadows wavering, the lines indistinct.

She became lost in the shadow dance as the man reached for her arms, pulling her up as he fell back, tugging her forward until she was straddling his hips. She stretched out over him like a lazy cat about to lap up the cream. And she did lap at him, her tongue traveling over his bare
skin, licking, tasting, relishing. Groaning low, he wrapped his hands around her arms, bringing her up until her breasts hovered above him.

Then he was doing to her what she’d done to him. His tongue taunting and teasing, circling her nipple while his mouth closed over her breast and his hand slid down between them, to stroke and drive her mad with desire.

She turned her gaze away from the shadows on the canvas and looked at her husband. His head was turned to the side, his gaze riveted by the dance of seduction unfolding. Watching him, watching them…

She felt pleasure coil so tightly…

He grabbed her hips, brought her up, brought her down…

She cried out, her release instantaneous, more intense than anything that had come before it, but hovering within reach…

Another.

She whimpered as he began pumping himself into her, controlling her movements with strong hands that bit into her hips.

Now she was the one throwing her head back, turning her head to the side, watching as she glided her own hands along her stomach, cupped her breasts, taunting him with her wickedness as she touched herself in the same manner that he often touched her. It was exhilarating to abandon her reserve, to express her desires with such freedom…

He released a feral growl, his back arching up, his hips making a final thrust even as he drove her down to meet him. Pleasure, intense beyond belief, shot through her, and once more she found herself crying out.

She watched the shadow lady grow limp and melt into her shadow lover.

“Now you can close your eyes,” he said with a satisfied chuckle, as his arms came around her, holding her close.

Turning her head, she smiled at the sated couple lying in shadows. Smiled before drifting off to sleep in contentment.