A Matter of Temptation (8 page)

“I thought this new prison system was considered far superior to what we had before. It is clean, modern. And while the hoods may be a bit of a nuisance, if I were within those walls, I wouldn’t want anyone to know it was me. I believe I would welcome the anonymity while waiting to be transported to Australia.”

“Yet you would lose that anonymity the morning you were marched to the transportation ships. Hoods are not worn then. Faces are revealed, so why bother to hide them at all?”

She furrowed her delicate brow. “Oh, I see your point. I suppose it does seem a rather unnecessary practice, but I’m certain the decision wasn’t based on a whim. Surely there is a good reason that we’ve simply failed to consider.”

“None that I can think of.”

“Which isn’t proof that a good reason doesn’t exist. Only that we can’t fathom it. I’m sure all the decisions were made with a great deal of wisdom and forethought. Why does this place fascinate you so?”

She moved in front of him so he was forced to either look into her eyes or peer over her head. He
chose her eyes and quickly wished he hadn’t. They reflected a pleading that he didn’t quite understand. His gaze drifted lower, to her lips, and he realized that he was making a thousand mistakes today, because looking at them reminded him of how close he’d come to kissing them earlier in the church.

Her tongue darted out and moistened her lower lip. His body tightened in response. He jerked his gaze up to look over her, toward the prison, the model prison, the pride of England. It wasn’t fair that he’d spent eight years in that place; it wasn’t fair that John would spend only a few nights. It wasn’t fair that this woman cared for his brother.

She cradled his cheek, forcing him to look at her once again.

“Don’t leave me,” she said softly, pleadingly. “I don’t know where you go when you look at that horrid building, but somehow it takes you away. Even though you’re standing right here, you’re no longer with me. Please, let’s go now.”

He placed his hand over hers, so small, soft, and warm. Even through the gloves, he felt the warmth. Turning his head slightly, he nodded as he pressed a kiss to the center of her palm and caught a stronger whiff of her perfume. She must have placed a drop on her wrist, and he wondered where else she might have placed droplets. Along her throat, between her breasts,
behind a knee. Places he would dearly love to kiss, with or without the scent of her perfume to tantalize him.

He turned away, fearful she would read the desire harboring within him. For eight years he’d not known the touch of a woman, the sound of a woman’s voice, the gentleness a woman brought into the world. But his brother had possessed all those things. Would he be as appreciative toward her as Robert found himself, or would he take everything for granted?

He offered her his arm and led her back toward the coach. Once they were settled in and on their way, he soon found himself gazing at his wife, his brother’s love. And knowing a fury at the unfairness that continued to be visited upon him—a fury far greater than any he’d experienced before.

Once they returned to the coach, Torie lost her inclination to try to start a conversation. She was as weary as he claimed to be, having gotten up before dawn to begin the preparations for her wedding. And while she was undeniably disappointed in Robert’s lack of enthusiasm for any topic she broached, she had to admit that perhaps her inability to engage him in any meaningful discussion was the result of his experiencing the same weariness, and not because he was suddenly finding fault with her, when he never had before.

He’d always maintained a quiet reserve when they’d been together in public, but then they’d
always
either been in public or had a chaperone nearby fairly breathing down their necks. They’d never been totally and completely alone.

It was the private man that she’d thought marriage would introduce her to. She’d not expected him to be more reserved. She’d thought that finally, alone, they’d come to know each other better, to stir within each other the passion that was lacking before. They had always been politely comfortable with each other, but even that seemed to have vanished.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” she finally ventured to ask.

His gaze came to rest on her. “What’s that?”

“This is the first time that we’ve been completely alone. I expected it to be somehow different.”

“In what way?”

She nibbled on her lip, wondering if she should dare to confess—

“I thought you might ravish me as soon as possible.”

It was impossible to confirm from this distance, but she thought her husband might be blushing.

“Surely you’ve no desire to be taken in a coach,” he stated, his voice rough as though he were struggling against images of the ravishment she’d suggested.

“I suppose it would be rather awkward.” Although she wasn’t entirely sure. Could he ravish her while sitting? Or would they need to be lying down? As well sprung as his coach was, it was still a bumpy ride.

“Decidedly so,” he commented laconically.

“Have you ever…in a coach?” she asked.

He gazed out the window. “No. And even if I had, I don’t believe I’d tell a lady of my exploits.”

“So you might be lying now to protect my sensibilities.”

He jerked his head around. “I’m not lying.”

“Even if you had no plans to ravish me, you could sit by me, now that we’re married. It’s perfectly acceptable.”

“If I sat beside you, I’m not certain that I could resist ravishing you.”

Now she thought she might be the one blushing.

“We could test your restraint.”

“I would rather not.”

“So it is a matter of temptation that has you sitting there rather than here?”

He gave a brusque nod before turning his attention back to the window and the scenery beyond. She took what satisfaction she could from his confession. At least she was desired.

His insistence on not testing his restraint became abundantly clear when the coach pulled to a stop in front of an inn, and she and Robert were immediately taken to a private room. Her heart
had fluttered with the thought that he’d decided he could wait no longer to make her his wife. But the room was prepared for dining, not bedding. She didn’t think a table would be any more comfortable than a coach.

Robert had crossed the room and stood staring out the window while servants brought in food and arranged everything nicely upon the table. Apparently the proprietor was accustomed to the duke stopping here on his way to Hawthorne House, because as he was leaving the room he assured the duke that fresh horses would be available.

Now she sat across from her husband at the small table. She wanted to eat with the same enthusiasm that he did, but her stomach and throat were a tangle of knots as she wondered when he might seek to truly make her his wife. She feared eating would only serve to embarrass her when she would be unable to swallow what she’d chewed.

“How long will we stay here?” she finally asked.

He looked up from his plate—bewilderment in his eyes—as though he’d forgotten that she was there. Slowly he chewed, almost as if he were searching for the answer while he did so. At last he swallowed and spoke.

“Only until they’ve swapped out the horses.”

“They seem to know you here.”

For the merest second, it seemed an expression of fear crossed his features, but it was gone
so quickly, hidden behind the reserved mask he usually wore, that she suspected she’d only imagined it.

“Long ago, my grandfather made arrangements with several innkeepers to have a few of our horses boarded so they would be available and we could travel quickly from London to our various estates. I now benefit from his strategy.”

“Where will we stop for the night?”

“If you have the stamina for the journey, I’d rather not stop. I’m anxious to get to Hawthorne House.”

She wished he was as anxious to be alone with her. But perhaps he would be more comfortable at his home, perhaps things would return to what she knew and expected. “I’ve no problem in traveling through the night.”

“Splendid.”

He returned his attention to his meal, carefully cutting into the ham, placing the piece into his mouth, closing his eyes as though he’d never tasted anything quite so delicious.

She sliced off a sampling for herself. She detected nothing special: no spicy glaze, no enticing seasoning. She was surprised that he seemed to relish the offerings, when she knew he was a man of singular tastes, who preferred the unusual over the sublime. She was beginning to realize that his courtship of her had revealed very little about him.

She could hear the birds chirping outside the
window, the scratching of silver over china, and her tension began to increase. It was annoying, frightening not to know exactly what to expect. Would this be her life? To be ignored? To never know what he thought, felt, dreamed?

“Do you remember the night we met?” she decided to ask.

He finished chewing, swallowed, and took a sip of water. “I shall always remember the moment I first gazed upon you.”

She flushed with his words. They were more along the lines of his flirtatious style, more of what she’d expected.

He took another sip—

“You frightened me.”

He jerked, brought a fist to his mouth, and coughed several times, his eyes watering.

He cleared this throat. “Pardon me. I seem to have swallowed improperly.” He cleared his throat again, dabbed at his mouth with his linen napkin, and dropped his gaze to his plate as though trying to determine when it might be safe to continue eating. Then he peered up at her.

“Why?”

“Because you were so confident, so sure of your place.”

“Yes, well, maybe I shouldn’t have been…so sure of my place, that is.”

“But that’s one of the things I admire about you. You never doubt a single decision, a single action.”

“Trust me, Torie. I have a good many doubts.”

Leaning back in his chair, he studied her as though she held the answer to whatever it was he sought. “I have concerns that, in time, your feelings toward me will change.”

She laughed lightly. “Of course, they’ll change. They’ll deepen as we spend more time together, as we come to know each other better.” She reached across the table and placed her hand over his where it rested on the table. “I
want
to know you better.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Her heart leaped into her throat as he snatched his hand away from hers and came to his feet.

“You must forgive me, but I am not in the habit of sharing myself, my feelings, my thoughts,” he said quietly, combing his fingers through his hair, a look of bewilderment flashing over his face as though he was surprised by what his hand encountered. “Therefore getting to know me better will not be an option. I need to attend to other matters at this precise moment. I suggest you see to your own comfort before joining me at the coach. I wish for us to be away as quickly as possible.” He gave a brisk nod. “If you will excuse me?”

Swallowing hard, she nodded.

“I would greatly appreciate it if you wouldn’t tarry.”

And with that, he left the room, leaving her confused and trembling. Whatever had she done to earn his displeasure?

As for not sharing, well, he certainly had up until this morning. His comment made no sense. How could an exchange of vows so drastically change a man?

R
obert couldn’t seem to bring himself to look away from his wife, even as he wished he could erase the memory of her stunned expression, her disappointment in his response. Her thinking that she would come to know him
better
assumed that she knew him at all—which she didn’t. She knew John, and she would soon know John better. Perhaps he should tell her the truth of the situation. But to her he would be an impostor. He wanted to talk to her, desperately, but he feared discovery of his deception—he was the rightful duke but not the man she thought she was marrying.

It had been easier for John to imitate Robert because he’d been around to see how Robert
acted, to whom Robert spoke, how he addressed people and they addressed him. Robert was lost, drowning in a sea of unknowns.

Even the most innocent statement, uttered without complete thought, could betray him.

They’d not spoken once since she’d joined him and the coach had sprung forward to continue the journey. Her gaze was locked constantly on the scenery beyond the window. Even as darkness fell, she’d provided him with only glimpses of her profile as the evening shadows began to work their way into the coach. Eventually she’d removed her hat and set it aside.

Upsetting her seemed to have had the effect of silencing her. Now she seemed like a wounded creature, nursing its injuries. He desperately wanted to apologize, but this way was better, and in the end, she would be grateful that he had sought to distance himself.

Her profile was lovely, but what did he expect when her face was that of an angel? An angel who had married the very devil himself.

A part of him thought he should despise her on that fact alone. Yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to feel anything except…enchanted by her loveliness.

Her scent should have faded away by now, but it still lingered. The moonlight limned her perfect profile. He watched as she lowered her head slightly, then jerked it upright. Falling asleep, trying to stay awake.

He contemplated telling her to give in to the weariness, but he feared she might say something about other journeys they’d made together, and how would he respond then? He didn’t remember the night he met her because he hadn’t met her at night, hadn’t met her at a ball, and he certainly hadn’t been confident when he
had
met her.

Once they were at Hawthorne House, they would be situated in different wings—he would no doubt have to come up with an explanation for that circumstance. He could pretend to be ill, but what if she wished to nurse him back to health?

Damnation! She was a complication he didn’t need.

And how to explain his unwillingness to bed her? Only it wasn’t an unwillingness. He was most willing indeed.

His body ached for the surcease a woman’s body could offer. He found himself drawn to this woman, even though he had no wish to be.

She finally dropped her head to the side and allowed it to stay there. He’d spent many a night sleeping in an uncomfortable position, and he knew, come morning, she would suffer because of the odd angle at which she now slept.

It was none of his concern. She was none of his concern. An inconvenience only.

Still, he found himself moving her hat from her bench to his. He eased across the space separating them, until he was sitting beside her. He
closed his eyes and remembered the many journeys he’d made with his parents, the times his father had placed his arm around his mother and drawn her near until she was resting comfortably against his side. It had seemed such a natural thing for his father to do, but he had loved his wife, and it often seemed that they communicated without speaking.

Robert barely knew this woman, had no earthly idea how she would fit against him, but he did know that it was his haste to get home that was responsible for the awkward position of her body now. It was hardly fair that she should suffer for his inconsideration. He should have allowed them to stop at an inn for the night.

As gently as he could, he placed one arm around her while using his other hand to gently hold her head steady as he tipped her toward him until her face was nestled within the crook of his shoulder. Perfectly. As though it belonged there.

He held his breath as she released a hushed murmur and burrowed more closely against him. She was warm, so incredibly warm, and so dainty. She must weigh no more than a feather. With his hand still resting against her cheek, he couldn’t resist the temptation to stroke her skin. Soft and silky. Flawless.

The oddest thing. His eyes began to sting. He blinked several times until the sensation went away. He’d not even contemplate that he might
have been on the verge of weeping at the comfort such an innocent touch could bring.

“Robert?”

He stiffened at the sound of her voice, as soft as a caress in the dark.

“I’m sorry if I’ve done something to displease you,” she said, her voice so low that he barely heard it.

Slamming his eyes closed, he laid his cheek against the top of her head, once again feeling that unaccustomed stinging behind his eyes.

“You haven’t displeased me, Torie.”

“You seem so different.”

Tell her; tell her the truth
. The perfect opportunity had been laid in his lap, so to speak. Her. Here. Yet as soon as he revealed everything—that he was not the man who’d asked for her hand in marriage—she would move away, completely and forever. What would it hurt to savor just a few more moments with her in his arms?

“May I make a confession?” she whispered.

A confession? One as innocent as she? What could she possibly confess? That she only pretended to eat her vegetables?

“Of course,” he murmured.

“I was thinking this morning that our wedding had arrived too soon, before I was ready. I thought you read in my eyes the doubts I was harboring at the church.”

“I saw no doubt.”

“It’s simply that I realized this morning that
we’ve had no time to get to know each other without the company of others. You’ve never even kissed me properly.”

“Have I not?”

She didn’t look at him as she said, her voice lower, “No.”

“Should I remedy that situation, do you think?”

The words escaped before he had a chance to think them through. He felt her barely perceptible nod in the nook of his shoulder.

Then she was turning her face up to his. She was little more than shadows, captured by an occasional beam of moonlight dancing in through the window. He couldn’t read her expression, and perhaps that was for the best, because neither could she read his.

He cradled her cheek and skimmed his thumb over her mouth. “It’s been a while since I’ve kissed a lady,” he rasped, “but I believe I remember the basics.”

“I’ve never kissed a man.”

Groaning low at her admission, he was acutely aware of her lips parting slightly, her tongue grazing his thumb, and he knew he was on the verge of making a dreadful mistake, but he seemed unable to stop himself.

He lowered his mouth to hers.

He’d never known such softness as her lips shaped themselves to match his. Or warmth as she opened her mouth, allowing him entry. The
blinding heat shot through him, as he explored her offering with his tongue, darting thrusting, relishing the velvety textures as much as the rougher ones.

He angled his head to get a more comfortable fit and was immediately greeted by a waft of her perfume—from behind her ear, and he envisioned her delicately placing the droplet there. He thought about kissing the spot but didn’t want to leave her mouth unattended, a mouth that had teased him all day with hints of smiles and bits of conversation. A mouth that could create a dimple upon command. He thought about kissing the dimple as well, thought about kissing every inch of her, and even as he thought it, he knew it could never be.

He was taking liberties to which he had no right, but she had invited him to kiss her, and he’d gone too long without invitations to turn one away when it was delivered by such a lovely lady and presented with such enticement. And so he took what she offered and fought back the guilt. It was only a kiss, after all.

Only
a kiss.

The thought made it seem insignificant, when it was anything but. It washed over him and through him, and filled the empty vastness of his heart that had been alone for far too long. It drew him away from the darkness of despair with a bold sweep of her tongue. She wasn’t shy. She gave far more than she took, boldly setting a path that he thought would lead directly to her heart.

A heart she’d reserved for his brother.

He deepened his exploration, relishing her warmth, tasting her sweetness. At this moment she was his—wife, his duchess, his seducer.

He pulled back slightly, pressing a kiss to one corner of her mouth, then the other. He nestled her face back into the crook of her shoulder, listened to her rapid breathing, and the thundering of his blood between his ears.

Ah, yes, he’d made another ghastly mistake.

“That was quite simply…marvelous,” she said when her breathing had quieted. “I don’t understand why society frowns on kissing.”

Because it was much easier for a man to deny himself the pleasure of a lady he’d never tasted. But to know the reality of his mouth fastened to hers and to still deny oneself—Robert didn’t know if he had the strength.

“You should try to sleep now,” he said, his voice sounding like sand blown over rocks.

“Did you find the kiss pleasing?” she asked.

“Remarkably so.”

“It’s a wonder people don’t spend all their time kissing.”

“The danger in a kiss is that it can lead to other more intimate pleasures, and not all men have the strength to resist the temptation to explore those other pleasures.”

“Marriage removes the need to resist.”

“Yes.”

“Will we arrive at Hawthorne House tomorrow?”

“In all likelihood, yes. You would do well to sleep now.”

He didn’t want to discuss what she thought would happen once they arrived at his family estate, because what she hinted she wanted, could not occur. Not if he was to return her to John.

He relished the feel of her body relaxing against his, her hand curled against his chest. Such an innocent display of trust.

He wanted to stretch out full-length and have her lying beside him, completely, with no space separating them. It didn’t matter that they were both fully clothed. It mattered only that her weight pressed against him, and it was the most incredible sensation. After so long, he was no longer alone.

And although he knew it was but a physical impression creating an emotional deception, he still welcomed the joy that it brought, to once again be out in the world where he could travel in a coach at his leisure simply because he wished to, where he could hold a woman beside him and welcome the possibilities…

He moved his hand up, gingerly skimming his fingers over her hair. More silk. Or perhaps satin. He was incredibly tempted to remove the pins holding everything in place so the strands could fill his hands. The moonlight glinted off her dark hair, her pale skin, giving her an ethereal quality.

She sighed, and he wondered what visions filled her dreams. Did she dream of the man she cared for incredibly desperately? Or did she dream of the man who had kissed her?

He had no plans to give in to sleep tonight, because the waking dream was more wonderful than anything his imagination would conjure.

She tempted him to truly make her his wife. The law gave him the right, which was more than his brother had ever given him. She was his wife; her body belonged to him. But her heart…apparently it belonged to his brother.

He had no intention of making her suffer for his brother’s sins, yet even as the thought took hold, he realized he was doing exactly that. By taking her as his wife, by not revealing the truth of the situation.

As he held her, he couldn’t help but wish that she was truly his.