Just One Kiss (13 page)

A table had been set with roast and ham, bread and vegetables. Elizabeth could barely eat, but she accepted the glass of wine Stephen pressed into her hand. Finding herself alone, she slipped out the French doors onto the terrace. Her head pounded dreadfully, and there was a heavy ache in her breast. Eyes downcast, she stared at the band of gold on her finger, twisting it around and around; it seemed as heavy as her heart.

All at once her spine prickled.

She knew he was there even before she slowly raised her head.

He stood not three feet away. He regarded her coolly, his arms crossed over his chest. "Regrets already?" he inquired.

The bite in his tone brought her chin up. She glared at him.

He smiled rather tightly. "Now, that's better, Elizabeth. For an instant I feared I'd married a crushed blossom."

A scathing retort sprang to her lips. "You may find I'm more than you bargained for."

His brows shot upward, even as his gaze slid down to the roundness of her breasts. His tone was lazily suggestive, his study long and thorough. "A prediction, Elizabeth? Or a promise?"

"Neither!"

"A pity then, for I find the possibility rather intriguing. Indeed, I—"

"Morgan?" The door was thrust open. It was Stephen. "There you are. Come inside, the both of you. Justin would like to offer you a toast."

Elizabeth was only too glad to comply. Picking up her skirts, she preceded the two men inside.

Champagne was immediately pressed into their hands. Morgan's attorney, Justin Powell, slapped his shoulder as they reentered the room. "Now, now, you shouldn't be so selfish with your bride!" he chided the younger man. "There's time enough for that later, eh?" He laughed uproariously.

Elizabeth's smile was rather sickly. It was obvious Justin was enjoying himself immensely—and imbibing rather liberally. His nose and cheeks were flushed and ruddy.

He raised his glass high. "And now for a toast," he went on. "To many years together"—he winked—"and many children."

Elizabeth's smile froze. Embarrassment flooded her like a crimson tide, for this was the one aspect of marriage to this man that she had tried hard to eradicate from her mind. To her horror, she felt the touch of Morgan's eyes on her profile.

She couldn't look at him—faith, but she could not! At a loss for words and deed, she lowered her gaze and tried to smile.

From that point on, Morgan didn't leave her side. Occasionally his hand grazed her arm, skimmed her shoulder, flitted to the curve of her waist. Fire seemed to sizzle wherever he touched.

Again and again her gaze strayed to his other hand, the hand that held the crystal goblet. He had yet to drink, while her own was empty. His fingers were long and brown and strong looking, yet his touch was almost delicate on the fragile stem. Her mouth went dry, her thoughts rampant.

She knew how the basic act of procreation was done, of course. But since she had no mother to guide her, she knew very little else. She'd heard rumors in the ladies' school she'd attended in London, things that couldn't possibly be true. And according to gossip, there was kissing involved. And touching, too…

She couldn't tear her eyes from Morgan's hands. What would those hands feel like against her skin? And his body… would it be like the man himself, hard and unyielding?

The thought evolved. Would she be naked? Dear God, would
he
?

"Elizabeth."

The sound of her name rattled her out of her daze. Her eyes caught his.

"Yes?" Her voice sounded high and tight, nothing at all like her own.

He removed the empty glass from her hand and set it on the tray of a passing maid, along with his own, which was still untouched. He bent low, so that his lips grazed her ear. "Enough for you, love," he murmured. "I'd hate for you to spend the first night of our marriage rather tipsy."

Elizabeth blanched. Until now, it seemed the evening was never-ending. Now she found herself wishing it were not over so soon!

The merest hint of a smile dallied at his lips. "Its been a long day," he observed. "Since most of the guests are gone, I'll have Annie show you upstairs."

She could hardly speak for the cold lump of dread in her throat. "As you wish," she said, her voice barely audible.

"Elizabeth?"

She had already turned away. She glanced back over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"You may as well retire. There are several matters I need to discuss with Justin. I may be some time yet."

Elizabeth could have jumped for joy.
Take as long as you like
, she thought silently.

Annie awaited her near the bottom of the stairs, her face glowing. Elizabeth's heart twisted. No doubt the girl thought it hopelessly romantic that she and her master had married. Sure enough, Annie was a step ahead all the way up the stairs. On the landing, Elizabeth instinctively began to turn right. The room she'd previously occupied was just a few doors down.

Annie stopped her with a hand on her arm. "Oh, no, ma'am. Not that way."

Elizabeth frowned. "But my room is there—"

"Not anymore, ma'am." Though her cheeks grew red, Annie's smile was priceless… or would have been under any other circumstances. "You'll be in the room that adjoins Mr. O'Connor's. I've already unpacked all your things and put them away in the wardrobe." She beamed. "Come now, ma'am. It's this way."

Elizabeth lagged behind her, her spirits as sluggish as her steps.

The room was spacious and lovely. Cream-colored carpet covered the floor. Pale blue damask hung at the window and covered the bed. A matching ruffle draped the dressing table. At any other time, Elizabeth would have clapped her hands in wondrous appreciation.

Now all that captivated her attention was the door on the far wall, the door she knew intuitively led to Morgan's room.

There was no lock.

"I thought you'd like a bath to freshen up," Annie said brightly. "The water's still piping hot, ma'am."

With Annie's help she was soon divested of her wedding gown. The girl was right. The water was steaming hot, yet Elizabeth had never felt so cold! Heedless of her mistress's anxiety, Annie chattered on while she scrubbed her back, then held out a fluffy towel when she was done.

"I hope you don't mind that I laid out your nightgown. I picked it out myself," Annie declared.

Elizabeth swallowed when she saw the sheer silk nightgown already spread out on the bed. "It's a bit cool for such a thin gown, don't you think?"

Annie's expression plummeted.

"But it is lovely, isn't it?" she added hastily.

Annie's smile returned full bloom. "And you've someone to keep you warm the night through, remember?"

Soft silk was whisked over her head and twitched into place. Elizabeth winced as she glimpsed her reflection in the mirror—the outline of her body was clearly visible.

Her arms stole around herself. "Oh, dear, I'm afraid I'm still rather cold after that nice warm bath. I think I'd like the robe as well, Annie."

Annie gave a telling sigh but went to the wardrobe. The girl draped it around her shoulders—and added more wood to the fire blazing in the hearth.

Then she was left alone, the only sound that of a small gilt clock on the bed stand… that and the pounding of her heart.

She paced restlessly, her mind consumed by just one thought. A husband had the right to lie with his wife. It was expected—it was a duty. And if he wanted, she must endure it over and over… Her thoughts grew wild. Perhaps it would be a blessing after all to be with child. Perhaps then Morgan would leave her well enough alone…

She'd avoided thinking about the night to come. If she didn't think about it, it wasn't real. But now the reality was nearly upon her, and so was the hour.

She lay down, but didn't sleep. The clock ticked slowly, so loud and so long she wanted to scream. Her ears strained for any sign that Morgan had come upstairs.

There was no sign of him.

Finally she arose, tugging her robe over her nightgown. Before she knew it, she was across the floor, one hand poised on the door that led to Morgan's room. Holding her breath, she slowly twisted the handle, then gently pushed it open.

The hazy glow of lamplight filled the room. It was empty, thank heaven. Drawn by a curiosity she couldn't deny, she ventured farther into her new husband's domain.

The furnishings were starkly masculine. A massive four-poster bed dominated the opposite wall, and it was that which captured Elizabeth's attention for a timeless moment.

"I must say, Elizabeth, this is a most unexpected surprise."

«
^
»

It was him.

For an endless moment she couldn't move. Her feet felt heavy as iron. Then her hand fluttered to her throat. All at once her chest felt suffocatingly hot.

She turned to face him slowly, aware that her cheeks flamed scarlet. He stood there, as wholly at ease as she was flustered. Even as she watched, he discarded his jacket and vest, dropping it carelessly on the chair near the door.

"I-I'm very sorry." She grappled for poise—and for an explanation. Yet what could she say when she'd been caught in a place she should never have been… sweet heaven, his
bedroom
! "I-I didn't mean to intrude."

"Oh, it's no intrusion." As he spoke, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, displaying strong forearms liberally coated with silky-looking dark hair. He looked impossibly masculine—oh, there was no denying it!—impossibly virile… and suddenly she felt impossibly weak.

He glanced up and caught her gaze. Elizabeth was horrified to discover she'd been caught staring.

"After all, where else would a wife be on her wedding night?" He smiled—oh, surely it was a demon's smile! "In fact, if I'd known you waited for me here, I'd have come up aeons ago."

She caught her breath, for the very idea that she… ! "You are mistaken."

"Indeed. How so?"

Blast the man! Must he toy with her so? Uncertainty rent her breast. "I beg your pardon," she said, clasping her hands together before her. "I'm afraid I was merely being unforgivably inquisitive."

"Indeed. I presume your room is to your liking?"

She nodded.

"You may have it redecorated if you like."

"Oh, no! It's lovely just as it is."

A heavy brow arched sharply, as if he'd expected otherwise.

The tension mounted as the silence continued. Her gaze slipped to the connecting door that led to her room.

He stood between her and the door, blocking her escape. His gaze followed hers. One corner of his hard mouth turned up in a faint smile.

"Are you anxious to leave, Elizabeth?"

Her reply came haltingly. "I am. I-I'm very tired."

"Oh, come now. After all, here we are, husband and wife"—his smile turned mocking— "and finally alone."

Her courage returned. "You know very well I didn't enter your room to offer myself to you!"

He moved a step closer. "Nonetheless, we are wed. And I would tell you, Elizabeth, that as your husband, I don't need your permission to take what is mine by right of the vows we spoke only this morning."

Her stomach clenched, for his matter-of-fact statement was like a slap in the face. The beast! Why must he remind her?

Her chin came up a notch. "Is that what you intend?" she asked stiffly.

He parried quickly. "Is that what you want?"

"Hardly." Only when it was out did she realize how scathing was her tone. One look at his taut expression and she knew she'd made a grave mistake.

"And what if I should insist?"

"I pray that you will not." Her tone was fervent, her features imploring.

He paid no heed, merely stepped closer. His gaze drifted over her, lingering on the thrust of her breasts. Only then did she realize her robe had fallen open.

She clutched the edges to her breast. Her heart was beating so hard, she feared it would choke her. "You said our marriage was an arrangement." Her voice was breathless. "A business arrangement. I-I see no reason why it should be anything else."

"A marriage in name only then?"

"Y-yes."

"I see. Why then, do you like it when I kiss you?"

"I-I don't!" Denial sprang quickly to her lips.

All at once he was there before her. "You do." He caught her by the arms, pulling her full and tight against him. His mouth hovered dangerously near. "And I'm more than willing to prove it once again."

Heaven help her, he did.

At first she kept her lips tightly closed against him. But his mouth on hers was infinitely knowing, infinitely sweet… and infinitely patient. She felt her defenses crumple as if they had never been.

He was right. She
did
like it when he kissed her.

Her mind screamed, even as her senses seemed to widen and flower. He did not demand—he compelled with subtle persuasion, his lips sweetly warm upon hers. His kiss drew from her a dark pleasure she could not fight. There was a peculiar tightness in her middle. In some hidden part of her, she longed for the kiss to go on and on…

Yet why? Why was it so? Her pulse pounded a frantic rhythm in her veins. Something tantalizing but elusive stirred in her breast. Never had it been like this with Nathaniel, she realized. Never! In her heart she was appalled at her helpless response to this man.

The man who is now your husband
, whispered a niggling little voice in her mind. Yet she couldn't help it. She couldn't help but feel guilty that she should feel such things with Nathaniel's
brother
.

Nimble fingers breached the barrier of her robe, parting it with unswerving intent. His touch as bold and brazen as the man himself, he molded the cushioned swell of her breast in his palm, flesh that had known no other man's touch.

Reality surfaced with a jolt, even as a flurry of panic assailed her. If she did not stop this,
he
would not stop. Inexperienced as she was, intuitively she knew it was so.

She tore her mouth away, pushing blindly at his chest. "No. No, I say!"

He was as immovable as a pillar of stone. Slowly he raised his head.

"I-I cannot do this. Do you hear me? I cannot do this!"