Never Desire a Duke (One Scandalous Season) (23 page)

She tucked the sodden handkerchief in her pocket. “To be so helpless, with no one to turn to, while others such as ourselves enjoy such privilege.” Sophia’s heart broke for the young couple. “Why, it’s unfair. They had nowhere else to go but here.”

“But here’s the deuced thing. I know Mr. Branigan, or at least I used to.”

Sophia reacted in shock. “No!”

He nodded with a smile. “My mother employed his father and mother one summer for a brief period of perhaps two weeks to assist Mr. Kettle with the gardens and the stable. I remember, it was an expense the house accounts could ill afford, and she hated sending them away.”

“And they had a son.”

“Yes. I had little dealings with the parents. To be honest, I didn’t even recall their family name, but their boy’s name was Adam and sometimes he played with Haden and me. We ran all over this place and the village and the woods, causing all sorts of trouble.”

“So he knew about the huntsman’s cottage from playing there with you. And I’d venture to say you showed him how to get inside the house through the Evil Dark Spirit Room, didn’t you?”

His lips gave a little twitch. “Yes, we did—I had forgotten all about it—and we were both sent to bed with no supper for doing so. We’d been warned by my mother countless times to keep the secret entrance to the house—well, secret. Living here very much alone and unprotected sometimes weighed on her mind, and if there’d been any sort of threat, we could have safely hidden there or escaped the house. Despite her generosity, the Branigans were little more than strangers.”

“She didn’t appreciate that you’d essentially given them a key to the house.” She squeezed his arm.

He covered her hand with his. “He’d always remembered this place with fondness and came here. They slept several nights upstairs, going about during the day looking for work. They built only the smallest fire, and only at night, afraid someone would see the smoke from the chimney.”

“Then we arrived,” said Sophia.

He nodded. “They hid in the attic until the day before yesterday but feared discovery. When we left for the village, they took refuge in the huntsman’s cottage, only to realize in their haste they’d left a small box containing their personal papers. Necessary letters of reference and whatnot.”

“Mr. Branigan came back for it, and I surprised him. I’m certain that given the situation, he was too embarrassed to introduce himself as an old acquaintance.”

“That’s what happened.”

“We can’t just turn them out, Claxton. Even if there is now room at the village inn, I can’t see sending them there, not with a newborn. Not at Christmas.”

He nodded. “In the morning we’ll set them up in the old stable master’s quarters. They can stay there until the storm passes and Mrs. Branigan has recovered enough for them to move on.”

The remainder of the evening passed quickly. Only periodically did the silence break with the sound of a newborn’s cry. When that occurred, Mrs. Kettle went to offer her assistance. Without specifically gaining permission, Lord and Lady Meltenbourne set up in one of the spare bedrooms. Mr. and Mrs. Kettle took their old quarters. Sophia produced keys to the storage rooms and closets, and soon all the necessary beds were made up and everyone had their place.

At last, late that night, Sophia and Claxton retired together to their room.

Claxton leaned against the inside of the door, his arms crossed behind his back. He watched her remove the pins from her hair, admiring the exposed curve of her neck, the pale skin there—

But, oh yes, her hair down was paradise. He swallowed hard, wanting nothing more than to drag her into bed.

“Mr. Kettle predicts that the frost will break tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Are you ready to leave Lacenfleet?”

“I pray he’s right. Oh, to be home for Christmas.” Sophia smiled. “But we haven’t finished the final quest. We can’t leave until we do.”

Relief crashed through him, knowing that she would not abandon him at the first opportunity. Though he felt they’d at last come to terms with the loss of their baby, a troublesome distance lingered behind her gaze and in her hesitant manner. Guilt struck him through. He ought to be grateful for all they’d achieved this past day. But he wanted more. He demanded more.

“We’ll return to the cottage in the morning. The final quest shouldn’t take long, being that all the duels and babies are out of the way.”

Sophia turned to him. “To think that four days ago I imagined us snowbound, hopelessly cut off from the rest of the world. Since that time I have never in my life encountered so many memorable people, or been witness to so many uncommon events.”

“Memorable people? Uncommon events?” He chuckled. “That’s a very diplomatic way of describing things as I saw them.”

Sophia brushed out her hair. “Looking back, I believe these have been four of the most entertaining days of my life. But I suppose it can’t last forever. It is almost Christmas.”

He went to the bed and lay back on the pillows, his booted legs extended to the side. “Your family will allow me in the door, I hope?”

“Of course they will. Just like last year, we’ll spend Christmas Eve at my grandfather’s. We’ll burn the Yule log, light the Christmas candle, and decorate the tree.”

“What else?” He closed his eyes and listened to her talk, thinking no other sound had ever been so soothing.

“There’ll be a roast goose and Cook’s special plum pudding. Grandfather always does the honors, lighting it ablaze, and we always send half to the servants’ quarters, where they are having their own happy celebration. We’ll play ridiculous games like bob apple and snap dragon and sing songs.”

“Sounds divine,” he murmured, watching her through slitted eyes as she removed her spencer. “As long as I’m not required to sing. I’d hurt everyone’s ears.”

Sophia glanced over her shoulder to find him watching her intently. Turning back to the cabinet behind the screen of the door, she removed the folded square of paper from her corset and slid the list underneath her folded stockings. The list was the one thing that kept her from being swept away by a crushing wave of new and overwhelming feelings for Claxton. The list was her rock. Her anchor. The only thing that kept her grounded in reality.

But being present for the birth of the Branigans’ child made her only more determined to have a baby of her own. Which meant making love, again and again, as many times as they could manage in these times spent alone.

Just the thought of him naked quickened the pace of her blood, dizzying her.

With yesterday’s ludicrous theory that they should proceed without kissing or romance having been thoroughly blasted to bits, her way of thinking had altered. Wasn’t it her right as a wife to
enjoy
the act of lovemaking for as long as life allowed and to embrace these memories in the making with enthusiasm?

She’d not brought any of her prettier sleeping gowns. When she’d packed for her stay at Camellia House, she’d expected to spend three days alone moping, crying, and writing a letter, all in dull gray flannel. She would have to make do.

For warmth, she undressed beside the fire, removing her gown, her stays, and at last, her chemise. Her nipples immediately hardened from the chill, but also from the knowledge that Vane watched from the bed. Completely naked, she rubbed a bit of scented oil into her skin, something she always did on winter nights to keep her skin soft. But tonight, the sensation of her own hands smoothing over her own skin while her husband observed took on a sensual pleasure. Feeling daring, she poured more of the glistening stuff into her palm and applied it to her legs, stomach, and torso. When she arrived at her breasts, she heard a distinct sound from the darkened recesses of the bed. A rough exhalation of breath.

She pretended not to hear, but what an unexpected thrill to realize the control she displayed over him, to make him react in such a way. If she wanted his baby, it only made sense that she should do everything in her power to keep his attention.

Emboldened, she rubbed the oil onto her breasts, making wide purposeful circles around her nipples, before at last dragging her palms across the distended tips. A low grunt came from behind the curtains and a creaking of the bed. As if in response to his arousal, the place between her legs grew damp and heavy, just as it had the night before when Claxton had tasted her there with his lips and his tongue. She hoped he would dare the same intimacies tonight. Last night’s lovemaking had opened her eyes to the fact that her husband had held back in those early months of their marriage, no doubt out of respect for her innocence. The list she’d just hidden away, while still a sore spot, nonetheless testified to his vast experience in pleasuring the female body. She could not help but hope in this moment, as her hand briefly slipped between her thighs so as to scent herself there, that he would expand her experience even more tonight. Legs trembling, she knew that in a matter of moments she would find out.

Covered neck to toe in her flannel gown, she made no effort to tie the ribbons along the deep slit at its front, instead leaving the fabric agape so as to reveal the inner swell of her breasts. Crossing the carpet, she joined him on the bed. Her body already throbbed in anticipation for him, aching for completion. Yet he lay with his forearms crossed behind his head, atop the pillow, and barely spared her a glance.

Odd behavior when she knew he’d been paying rapt attention just moments before. Stretching out beside him, she waited expectantly for him to pounce on her. He only gave a little yawn and touched the back of his hand to his mouth.

“It’s been a long day,” he said in a gravelly voice. “I know you must be fatigued.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not
that
fatigued.”

“Well, then, perhaps I am.” He settled even deeper into the mattress.

The skin at the nape of her neck prickled in alarm. Too tired to make love? Vane? He’d spent the last three days doing his best to seduce her. Why the sudden turnabout?

“Vane,” she exclaimed.

“Vane, what?” He closed his eyes, as if prepared to drift off to sleep.

“You don’t want to make love?” she demanded softly.

Did he detect disappointment in her voice? Or just irritation that he wasn’t going to provide that which she needed to conceive a child?

“I don’t want you to feel that making love is expected,” he replied. “Something you have to do now that we are actively trying to have a baby.”

“I don’t feel like it’s expected,” she retorted. “At least not the way you imply.”

“Of course you do,” he answered. “You must. How could you not? I can’t forget what you said last night about not wanting to feign passion or parody love just because we are married.” He paused. “And then I lost all control and gave you no choice but to do so. But you shouldn’t have to pretend only to please me. Perhaps we should just wait and see what the coming days bring. You could already be pregnant.”

He peeked through slitted eyelids to find her jaw dropped and the light of temper in her eyes. Even in this dim light, he could see that her cheeks had brightened to a rosy pink.

“I’m not
pretending
.” She reached out and pinched his arm. “
Claxton.
Now you’re making me angry.”

He glared at her. “Why are you angry when I’m only trying to be understanding?”

“Because I want to,” she answered quietly.

His heart clenched. “You want to what?”

Her eyes widened, pleading. “I want to make love.”

His body responded. Desire rippled like thunder through every layer of his body, skin, muscle, bone, and marrow.

Even so, now that she’d said what he wanted to hear, somehow it wasn’t enough.

“Because you want me?” he gritted out. “Or because you want a child?”

She did not speak for a long moment, but her breath grew labored. “Both.”

He could take her now in this moment, and oh, how he wanted to. But throughout the course of the day, she’d given him a hundred little reasons not to believe. It took all his strength to feign disinterest and once again ease back against the pillow. “Perhaps it is I who require convincing.”

A little huff of consternation broke from her mouth. After a long moment, she shifted on the mattress, rising up to sit on her knees. She reached out and lowered her hands against the tops of his thighs, spreading her fingers wide to grip him there, as best she could, being that her hands were small and his legs muscular.

Slowly…purposefully, she slid them upward, circling and massaging…until they came to rest on top of his swollen crotch. He swallowed hard, commanding himself to hold absolutely still.

As she leaned forward, the neck of her sleeping gown shifted, exposing one full round breast and its pink tip. “Pardon me for saying so, Claxton, but you don’t appear to need convincing.”

At her saucy tone, one he hadn’t heard in a very long time, his mouth went dry. He curled his hands into fists against the coverlet to prevent himself from reaching out to touch her.

“There’s a difference between convincing me,” he rasped, staring down at her hands where she covered him, “and convincing my cock.”

“Is that what you call it?” She licked her pink lips, her eyes bright and sparkling. “Your…cock?”

He let out a ragged breath. At hearing her speak the vulgarity, the appendage in question doubled in size, or at least felt as if it did. As if sensing his reaction, her hand tightened on him as best it could, separated from his pulsing flesh by the hide of his breeches. “Perhaps your cock and I, together, can persuade you to our way of thinking.”

They already had, but he wasn’t going to tell her so.

She leaned over his torso and kissed him, her lips and breath warming his mouth. Warmth from her body and the oil’s complex floral scent emanated from beneath her gown. He felt dizzied. Intoxicated. Yet he enforced control over himself. While he did not reject the kiss, he did not respond with discernible passion.

“Still unmoved, I see,” she surmised, a scant inch from his face. A determined gleam lit her eyes.

With a feminine little sigh of pleasure, her lips traveled down his neck to his chest, where with her hands she parted his shirt. Traveling lower, she lifted the linen, shoving the fabric against his skin. Her tongue touched the sensitive skin of his abdomen, awakening the flames he sought to keep confined. Vane almost seized her and dragged her beneath him, but he was enjoying her efforts too much to rush things.