Married At Midnight (17 page)

She was brooding, and it was all Thom could do not to chuckle with pleasure.

Unconscionable though it might be, he was quite satisfied with the reaction he'd wrought from her. She sat there before him

just now, looking wholly bemused, her thoughts clearly whirling behind those delightfully bewitching eyes.

Damn, but he felt as giddy as he had before she'd said her goodbyes that day so long ago; he was again

that little boy,

dashing toward the hill, pasteboard in hand to show her.

As on that fateful day, not all had gone as he'd anticipated this night either: They'd gone to the inn directly.

Hoping to procure

a single room for the both of them, Thom had bribed the clerk to deny them two. Unscrupulous though it might be, he couldn't seem to muster the least remorse for his underhandedness. His only regret was that Victoria had refused the arrangement out

of hand, opting to make the return journey to Blackstone, instead.

No matter. He could wait.

The rewards to be reaped, he knew, were entirely worth his patience. He would simply bide his time, and Victoria would

come about eventually.

He knew she would, because he could spy it within her eyes, see it in the way she watched him.

"The man was dyspeptic," Victoria declared suddenly, breaching the silence between them at last.

She didn't bother to turn and look at him.

Thorn suppressed a chuckle. "You think so?" he asked rather coolly.

"Quite!" she avowed. "He was ill-tempered, bigoted, and rude, to say the least!"

"He was smashed."

She turned to look at him, then, and Thorn sucked in a breath at the incredible loveliness of her face.

"Smashed?" Illumined

by the bloodless moon, her face was pale, her eyes incandescent green.

"Soused," he explained. "Drunk."

"Yes, well, I don't believe there was any need to reward him so well. Do you?" she asked.

He wisely refrained from pointing out her own peevish mood, and disclosed, "My timepiece revealed one quarter past the midnight hour as we exchanged our vows. I thought it prudent to leave him appeased, as he's the only one now who might gainsay us."

"Oh!" Victoria exclaimed, and her face seemed to pale all the more by the moonlight. "You don't think he will, do you?"

Her sea-green eyes were suddenly full of concern. Wistful, perhaps, but he wished to believe it was for more than her

desire to keep her bloody estates. "He did place the correct hour upon our certificate, did he not?"

Thorn nodded. "He did." Still, he withdrew the papers from his vest and offered them to her, hoping she wouldn't note his signature—not that she could possibly make it out in the darkness of the coach.

"Examine them for yourself."

"Thank you," she said, and took the folded papers from his hand, never averting her eyes. "I never even thought to ask,"

she confessed. "It never. .. occurred ... to me."

She seemed to lose her train of thought. As he lost his own every time she merely glanced his way.

It was good to know he wasn't alone in his temptation.

After all these years, she was like a feast to his starving senses. The whispering black silk of her wedding gown made him

yearn to reach out, to draw the sleek garment into his ready fingers. The soft scent of jasmine filling the air made him long to bury his face into her hair, against the curve of her neck . . . taste her flesh . . . place his tongue upon the pulse at her throat,

feel it beating beneath his lips. The even fainter scent of peppermint. . . exhaled in his direction by soft, tantalizing sighs, made him thirst to kiss her.

All in all, he was in a dangerous state of mind ... for a man who'd only just vowed to give his wife time .. .

"Well.. . they do seem to be in order," she yielded softly, though without ever having glanced down at the papers in question. Thorn could scarce help but notice, and he smiled, his lips curving with a fierce sense of satisfaction.

He followed her gaze down to the papers she held ... at her breast. .. and couldn't help himself. He focused upon the neckline of her gown, low and inviting, and groaned inwardly. He closed his eyes, his senses reeling at the bloody temptation.

The hazy moonlight was playing with his vision ... his mood . . . conspiring . . .

God help him, he was only a man, no saint, and he was suddenly dizzy and his mouth had gone bloody dry, besides.

She didn't know him anymore, he reminded himself. She needed time. He needed to give her that time. It was the right thing to do.

He repeated the litany until he was certain he must believe it, but his body remained tense as a caged wildcat in heat.

Her gaze was still focused upon him when he reopened his eyes, and he swallowed and held himself still... because if he

moved ... if he so much as stirred ... he was going to reach out and draw her into his arms, seduce her right here within this bloody rotten coach they shared.

Blinking, Victoria handed the papers back to him, her hands trembling, her thoughts in chaos.

She hadn't bothered to look at them, she realized—but then again she couldn't see the accursed print in the darkness of the carriage, at any rate, so why bother?

And Lord, it shouldn't matter, but somehow it did ... why had he so suddenly refused to kiss her?

Had he found her wanting? Did he regret binding himself to her? And why should it even bloody matter what he felt for her?

or what he thought of her?

She'd chosen him solely because he'd offered her this union without the usual bindings—without duty, without attachment.

And yet, never in her life had a man looked at her with such intensity of expression. Never in her life had she experienced

such a fluttering within her belly, such a tightness within her breast.. .

As she did this very instant.

Her heart beat a staccato as she stared at his lips ... at his face ... at his deep-set eyes and brows that tilted so devilishly with

his sinfully beautiful smile.

Her brow furrowed. Why hadn't he kissed her?

The question plagued her, though she told herself it was absurd. Perhaps he had found her wanting, after all. Somehow, the possibility weighed like stones within her belly.

Maddened her as well, if the truth be known!

He sat there now, looking much too unrepentant, and she suddenly felt like boxing his ears. Good Lord!

she couldn't recall the last time she'd had such a furious temptation—yes, she certainly could! and couldn't suppress a sudden giggle over the memory of a little boy who had once vexed her so relentlessly that she had cursed the encumbrances of her femininity that she could never seem to catch him to properly do so.

"Laughter suits you," her husband said.

Victoria blinked, and was momentarily taken aback by the compliment.

"Whatever are you thinking of?"

Victoria narrowed her eyes at him, refusing to be subdued by simple flattery. How dare he rebuff her before that ill-tempered man! "A childhood memory—nought you should be concerned with!" She lifted her chin, and sat forward within the carriage seat. "Not that I'm particularly upset over your change of heart, mind you!" she said, before she could stop herself. "Or your motives, for that matter—but I hardly appreciated the humiliation of your declination, sirrah!"

He lifted his head and leveled his gaze upon her. "Pardon?"

Victoria inhaled a breath. "It was certainly your prerogative to change your mind—again, might I point out!—however, you might have advised me in advance—before I managed to make myself appear quite the perfect ninny!"

"It was my prerogative to change my mind?"

"Of course! Though you might have advised me you cared to do so!"

He knit his brows. "Advised you ... that I cared to do what, precisely?"

"Kiss me!"

He lifted his brows.

Victoria was at once chagrined over the path in which their conversation had veered, and by the way her declaration must surely have sounded. "I mean to say! You might have said . .. then . . . before ..."

He lifted his head to peer at her through the shadows, looking entirely too composed, while she, on the other hand, in an instant, had managed to feel even more the fool for her outburst.

She groaned. Good Lord, how must she sound to him? As though she desired his kiss, after all?

"I rather thought you would be relieved?"

The mere slant of his brows sent her heartbeat to bedlam. Victoria shrugged, and mentally attempted to compose herself. "Well, of course I was relieved," she assured him much too quickly.

His lips curved a fraction more, and she cursed him to perdition for it. "Really?"

"Of course!" Victoria asserted. "I simply might have wished—"

"Because I could remedy it easily enough, you realize."

Victoria froze. "Remedy?" Her voice sounded strangled, even to her own ears. She stared at his face through the shadows, trying desperately to discern his expression.

He sat up a little straighter. "If you should like that kiss, after all," he submitted, his expression perfectly sober, and more than

a trifle compelling. "I am quite willing," he revealed.

"How absurd!" Victoria exclaimed, but scarce could she tear her gaze away from his face... his mouth.

Her heart beat like thunder in her ears. If he couldn't hear it, as well, then he was surely deaf. "However could you think so, sirrah?"

He leaned forward, and Victoria sucked in a startled breath at his sudden advance. And yet... she didn't withdraw backward into the seat, wasn't able to move suddenly. She swallowed convulsively. So close, he somehow made her head swirl and

her breath short.

"Perhaps," he revealed softly, "by the way you are once again staring at my mouth."

"I most certainly am not!" Victoria argued, though she knew it was a lie. She irrefutably was, for she was decidedly aware of those sensual lips moving as he spoke, and nothing else. Scarce could she seem to remember, even, to breathe. She had to remind herself to do so.

Her imagination? Or did it seem as though he leaned forward?

Closer.

She swallowed any words of protest, as his hand reached out suddenly to touch her face ... so softly, she might have thought his caress formed of simmering mist, a heated, tentative brush of whispering flesh that made her breast swell with pent up breath. She gasped at the touch, and blinked as the tips of his fingers slid down to her chin, slid beneath, and ever so gently leveled her face to his. Victoria lowered her lashes, afeared suddenly to look into his eyes.

"No?" he asked her softly, his voice little more than a whisper.

"N-No," she croaked, and closed her eyes. She couldn't seem to help herself—nor could she move away. Whatever was it about this man that drew her so? That made her yearn to be so bold? To be held by him? What is it that made her long to

be kissed ... by his wickedly beautiful lips.

"Perhaps 'tis only me, then," he confessed.

"O-Only you?" she stammered, her heart pounding now.

"Because you see ... I cannot seem to stop myself from staring at those luscious lips of yours."

Victoria dared not breathe at his confession. "No?"

"No," he murmured, and asked softly, "Would you deny me if I asked you please, Victoria?"

"Please?" Thoughts didn't seem quite able to form; her brain seemed suddenly as muddy as the puddles she used to trample through as a child . . . with . . . some glimmer of memory surfaced, but fled as quickly as it appeared, leaving Victoria to feel

an overwhelming desperation to chase it.

He moved closer, until their mingled breaths were a teasing veil between them, and she knew he was going to kiss her. And more, she wasn't going to refuse him. Her breasts tingled in anticipation of his kiss, tiny prickles of fire that inflamed her and stirred liquid heat within her belly.

"Would you like me to kiss you, Victoria?"

Her body slumped forward, and she sighed, no longer able to think clearly at all. His soft voice mesmerized her, delighted

her, sent delicious shivers racing up and down her spine.

"Yes," she whispered softly, lapping at her lips gone dry. "I... I believe I surely must. . ."

He chuckled at her artless response.

Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly parted, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of the glistening nectar within . . . the sweet dew of her lips, and his own mouth went suddenly dry as dust.

So bloody much for good intentions.

Damn, but how could any man refuse a mouth so full and luscious as hers? How could he expect to turn away from temptation when she sat so bloody close, smelled so sweet? When the gentle rise and fall of her breast, and her quickened breath, were but tantalizing glimpses of the passion he knew full well lay tempered within? What chance had he of convincing himself that this could possibly be wrong when it felt so right?