Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (19 page)

“The wager didn’t include any language as to whether the kiss be mouth to mouth, not mouth to crown of head?”

“I don’t think so, no. It also didn’t include anything about a mutual calling-off of the wager if both parties agree, and it should have. That was rather remiss of us.”

“Very nearly criminal,” he said, feeling her relaxing in his arms.

“And did we spit on our palms before we shook hands? I’m not sure we did. Well, that’s it, Simon. Clearly the wager wasn’t official.”

He rubbed his chin against her hair. “Your conclusion seems reasonable.”

She sighed. “I think so.”

“And fair-minded.”

She ran her hands over his chest. “Quite adult of us, really.”

“Oh, yes, quite,” he said, his own hands going to the waist of her breeches, to begin pulling her shirttail from its confinement. “Eminently adult.”

She took in a deep, rather shuddering breath as his hand slipped beneath her shirttail. “And inevitable, I suppose.”

“Again, eminently.” He brought his hands around her rib cage and cupped her breasts. She wore no undergarment. “Christ...”

“I doubt He’s anywhere close by. More likely his opposite. That...that feels rather wonderful.”

He bent his head to place soft kisses on the side of her neck before whispering into her ear. “And wrong, and dangerous, and leaving no question as to our marriage.”

“Even though I drive you mad?”

“In many ways, yes, you do. Before you ask, I enjoy this way best.”

Her hands found their way to his shoulders, and she melded her lower body against his. She began nuzzling at the side of his neck. He’d wondered how long she would allow him to take all the initiative. She hadn’t disappointed him.

He caught her mouth with his own, gloried in her open reception of him, felt his loins tightening in pleasure that could soon become pain if he couldn’t get her somewhere much more private than this room.

So thinking, he broke off the kiss, slid his hands down to her waist. He considered the moves to fall into the manly category called temporary self-preservation. “Where’s Consuela?”

“She wanted to sleep on a pallet outside my bedchamber door, but I convinced her to at least just take up the bed in the dressing room. Why? You certainly didn’t think we could go up—?”

“No, no, I didn’t. And Dearborn himself patrols the hallways at night, especially outside my chamber. Very obviously, so that I should know what he’s doing. Any other suggestions, or do you want us to stop now? This library has too many doors. Because I’d understand if you—”

“The dower house.” She took his hand. “I know where the key is kept.”

“Are you sure? You weren’t at all anxious to go there before we spoke of it just now.”

“I know. But if I’m going to go there, I’d prefer it be with you. Come on.”

They rather
slunk
their way to the corridor just outside the kitchens, where Kate took a key out from beneath a chair cushion.

“Dearborn hides his key to the key cabinet behind us under a cushion? I can’t believe that.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said, grabbing his hand once more. “He carries the key to the key cabinet with him at all times. This key is purposely obvious, too obvious, as many an industriously dusting housemaid has found out moments before being dismissed from service. It’s Dearborn’s idea of a test of honesty and trustworthiness. If the key is found, it should immediately be reported. If it isn’t, the new maid assigned to clean this hallway is turned off, either for not reporting it, or for shabby work in not finding it.”

“So it’s a two-edged sword, that key. I understand. No, I don’t. So what does this key fit?”

“Ah, that’s Dearborn’s real genius.” She faced the slim wooden cabinet attached to the facing wall, bent her knees and inserted the key up into the bottom of the thing. The wooden bottom folded down with the aid of a hinge, and out dropped a much larger key.

“The key to the key cabinet,” Simon said dully, shaking his head as Kate pulled open the door and extracted what he assumed to be the key to the dower house. “I still don’t understand.”

“Neither has anyone else, not in all the years I can remember. But if someone ever does, Dearborn said he’d immediately have that person put in chains and turned over to the constable in Hythe, for surely he or she was a master thief. There’s curiosity in trying the key in the cabinet lock, you see, which is enough to have you turned off, but a real criminal must be placed in gaol.”

“Which, although I probably would be safer not saying this, puts you in the category of
real criminal.
”

She pocketed all three keys and turned to him with a grin. An unholy grin. “Not really. Because I’m only borrowing it and will put it back, and then politely ask him for it tomorrow. Only Valentine and I know about the secret compartment. We were left to our own devices a lot as children, you understand, and short enough to see beneath the cabinet. Now be quiet. Sometimes Cook falls asleep in her rocker and never goes to bed.”

Doing as ordered, Simon followed Kate on tiptoe, so that his boot heels wouldn’t strike against the stone floor of the immense kitchens, thinking Kate must be floating over that same stone—until he remembered she was barefoot.

Once outside, Simon lifted Kate into his arms.

“What are you doing? You can’t seriously think you can carry me all the way to the dower house. Put me down.”

“You’re barefoot, if you haven’t noticed,” he answered, stating the obvious.

“Yes, and it’s raining, if
you
haven’t noticed. Soft, warm, lovely rain. Put me down, Simon.”

She was right. She was going to get wet, no matter what he did. He could only hope the rain wouldn’t wash away the paint on her toes. He had plans concerning those toes....

He took her hand and they made their way slowly across the wet slates, notoriously slippery when they were wet, and then he lifted her down the few steps to the gravel path.

“You never walk barefoot, Simon? Gravel is not your friend when you do. Come on, we’ll cut across the grass, which will be quicker in any event.”

And they did. Hand in hand, they made their way the hundred or more yards, guided only by patches of light coming from the windows behind them and Simon’s astute sense of direction...which he had to employ when Kate attempted to lure him beneath a tree for another kiss.

Not that they didn’t kiss as they walked. Not that they didn’t look at each other and smile. Laugh. They were having an adventure, that’s what it really came down to, strange as that seemed. Life with Kate would be one grand adventure after another.

Her hair was sodden, clinging to her skull, and he could feel rainwater dripping off his nose. There is a point when you are wet, and cannot get any wetter; they met and passed that point in the first fifty yards, after which there seemed to be no hurry to get where they were going.

So they held hands as they made their way through the dark. And stopped now and then to kiss. And they talked.

Simon was certain he’d never remember a word they’d shared; he was too busy falling in love with Lady Katherine Redgrave. Completely, totally, eternally in love with his beautiful, unaffected, daring, unusual Kate. He didn’t have a choice, really. It had always been, as they’d both said,
inevitable.

The dower house was Redgrave Manor in miniature, although that still made it larger than most dower houses, and oddly close to the Manor house, as well, as if the earls held their mothers in affection and wanted them gone, yes, but not banished.

“I can’t see a thing,” Kate lamented as they climbed the stone steps to the covered portico. “My hair keeps dripping in my eyes.”

So Simon took the key from her and inserted it in the lock. Then turned to Kate.

“Last chance.”

“Are you warning me, or reminding yourself?” she asked, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes.

“A little of both, probably. God, I want you.”

She raised her hand to his cheek. “I want you, too. I’m not a child, Simon. And I know what I know, which is admittedly secondhand information. To be truthful, much as Trixie told me otherwise, I thought most of what she said to be either silly or embarrassing. Yet I’ve wondered what it would be like since I first saw you, which wasn’t all that long ago, was it? Why do I feel as if I’ve known you forever? Because I find I can’t remember much of my life before you stormed into it. What I’m saying, Simon, is that I look at you, and I think about everything Trixie has told me, and I want you to be the one who...who does that to me.”

Only a fool wouldn’t take that as her final answer. He didn’t believe himself to be a fool. The key turned. The door opened soundlessly. Dry, dusty air welcomed them into the marble-lined entry hall.

“I’ll do my best not to be silly or embarrassing,” Simon told her even as he blinked several times, attempting to accustom his eyes to the pitch-black around him. He still held tightly to her hand; the last thing he wanted right now would be to lose her in the dark. “Dare we a candle?”

“Not on this side of the house, with the heavier draperies removed for the summer. Come on.”

She stepped out with no hesitation, as if she could see where she was going, and led him forward for several yards, up a curved flight of stairs, and then unerringly to the right, and then to the left after passing down a long hallway. Simon figured they were now facing the rear of the house. He also suspected they were standing in the dowager countess’s private bedchamber.

May as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb...it might be their private motto.

“Stay here,” she said, and then left his side, disappearing in the darkness, to soon be broken as she employed a tinderbox to light a large candelabra.

From what he could see, the chamber was inhabited by the ghosts of ancient furniture, all covered in dust sheets...including what had to be an enormous four-poster bed.

Bless Kate. She wanted what she wanted, and saw no need to play shy or coy about the thing. In fact, she was already stripping away the dust sheets and turning down the bedspread.
The hussy,
he thought happily.

He picked up the silver candelabra and deposited it on the table beside the bed. “I thought you respected your grandmother’s privacy.”

“I do. But she doesn’t live here, does she? She never has. Val and even Max and I played here as children on rainy days. Playing at ghosts with the dustcovers, you understand, running about, making awful sounds and jumping out from cupboards to surprise each other. But I don’t go into her rooms at Redgrave Manor. Often,” she amended, as if not wishing to be caught in a lie. “I’m beginning to feel chilled, Simon.”

With the help of the candlelight, Simon looked down at her, seeing the way her taut nipples prodded at the wet linen of her shirt.

It was now or never. If he did, his life would never be his alone ever again; he would have given his life, his happiness, over to her. If he didn’t, Kate would never trust him again, and he’d spend the remainder of his days stumbling through a life not worth living.

“Simon?”

He smiled at her, surprised to realize he was suddenly nervous. “Kate?”

She looked at him with those huge, tip-tilted brown eyes. “I don’t know how I can be any clearer. I don’t want to be a virgin anymore, and I’ve chosen you to rid me of my problem. But that doesn’t mean I’m simply...curious. I really want it to be you, Simon. Please. I really do care for you. Very much so. I thought we’d agreed this was inevitable.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered, knowing what it had taken for Kate to say what she’d just said, reveal what she was willing to offer...although not conceding all the way. She hadn’t said she loved him.

Then again, he hadn’t told her his recent revelation: he loved her. Wanted her, needed her. But, mostly, he loved her.

She wasn’t there yet, the brave, daring Kate unable to say the words first.

If she believed them. If she’d believe them if he said them.

For now, for his sins, he’d take what she did offer.

He bent his head, touched the tip of his nose to hers. “You want me to take you where you’ve never been. I want that, too. But this first time...”

Up went the chin. That adorable, arrogant, brave chin.

“I know. Trixie told me. I’m still here, Simon.”

“So you are. Let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

Her eyes went slightly wider. “Yes, let’s do that.”

Her fingers went to her buttons, but he lightly brushed them away.

The release of each button merited a kiss against the damp, sweet-smelling skin revealed. The buttons on her breeches demanded the same tribute for each new success, her navel attracted the attention of his tongue, as well.

The breeches slid from her softly flaring hips to puddle at her feet, leaving her completely bare save for the open shirt.

He knelt in front of her as she leaned against the bed.

No undergarments. She’d said she’d dressed in haste. Or had it been more than that? Had she made up her mind that tonight would be the night?

He really didn’t care, yet allowed himself to be flattered to think her hunger matched his own. There was no time for questions.

Not now, as he kissed her, touched her, learned her.

Not now as he gently spread her legs and introduced her to the delights he could give her with his fingers, his mouth, his stroking tongue.

Kate writhed against him, moaning softly, at times almost laughing, at times his name a near sob. She showed no signs of being frightened by this intimacy. She didn’t try to shy away from him, but only allowed him to do what he would do.

And then her body took over, knowing what to do, pulsing with life and first-felt physical ecstasy.

She collapsed backward onto the bed, saying his name over and over again. He’d taken her without taking her. Given her pleasure without hurting her.

Now it was time for the rest.

He all but ripped off his own sodden clothing, then tugged Kate’s breeches free and tossed them to the floor. He kissed the arches of her feet, the curve behind her knees, the soft warm insides of her thighs and then stepped between her legs. He took hold of her hands and pulled her upward, her head lolling back, her long black hair trailing damply, nearly touching the sheets.