Sattler, Veronica (51 page)

He'd
thought to take his revenge, making her suffer for a few days, then release her
and seek the divorce she'd suggested, wiping her out of his mind and his life
in the process. But his mind would not be quit of her... nor the yearnings of
his body, he reminded himself sardonically. And now, here was Margaret,
arriving with her urgings to seek the severance he himself should have
instigated by now, reminding him of what he knew only too well: he'd been
putting it off because he wasn't sure he really wanted it. Divorcing a woman
he'd erased from his mind would have been easy; divorcing one who hovered in
his thoughts every waking moment, her presence stronger than ever, was
impossible.

Well,
tonight he'd forgone the trips to clubs and gambling halls following his last
session at Carlton House. Tonight he'd taken a light supper in his chamber—God
forbid he should join Lady Margaret in the dining room! He'd bathed, changed
his clothes, and then waited until he heard Higgins depart from Ashleigh's
chamber with her bathwater before stepping across the hall to stand here before
her door. It was time he made a decision.

Ashleigh
sat in a chair before one of the open windows in her chamber; it had turned hot
earlier in the day, and nightfall had brought no promise of cooling the city of
its closely held heat, so she had come here to catch what breeze she could, to
dry her hair after washing it in the bath. Wrapped around her body, from armpit
to ankle, was the ever-present sheet she'd clothed herself in for the past
three days. She was beginning to grow accustomed to it!

She
smiled, recalling Patrick's descriptions of islands he'd visited in his
seafaring days, where he said the women wore little more than this as their
daily garb. But her smile quickly vanished as thoughts of her brother reminded
her of how much she missed him and of her dwindling hope that she might see him
again soon.

A
sound at the door plunged her into the present. Setting down the hairbrush
Higgins had found for her, she straightened in the chair just as the lock
turned and Brett stepped into the chamber.

He
was dressed informally, in pale gray breeches with black and gold Hessians and
a white shirt that was open at the throat, minus stock, waistcoat or jacket.
His hair was still damp, indicating he'd recently bathed; it curled casually
about his ears and over his forehead, adding to the informality of his
appearance, but more than this, it gave him the effect of being more youthful,
even boyish. He was oh-so-handsome, and Ashleigh's stomach did a little
flip-flop when she saw him.

Aware
she was looking at him, Brett took a moment to observe her in return. She sat
very still in the chair before the window, and a soft breeze caught her long,
midnight curls, ruffling them about her face and bare, silken shoulders. The
chair was upholstered in deep blue velvet; against it, her small, slender body,
wrapped as it was in the white sheet, stood out in relief, accentuating her
lithe curves. Her eyes as they met his had never seemed bluer, and they
sparkled, catching the candlelight that also bathed her skin in a warm, mellow
glow, making it appear sensuous beyond reckoning. He felt an instant's urge to
rush to her and pull her against him, that he might feel that powder-soft skin
and the countless other textures of the ripe body he'd come to know so well:
the whisper softness of her eyelids; those silken strands of hair; the satin
curve of her lips when she smiled...

Gritting
his teeth, he put aside this inclination, knowing they must talk if he was to
reach any decision at all.

"I
see you've adapted to your surroundings quite well," he said, indicating
her placement of the chair before the open window.

"To
my prison, you mean," she corrected.

"As
you wish." His reply was noncommittal.

"But
you must know I do
not
wish it! Brett, can you not tell me what you
intend to do with me? I—I must tell you, it has been very difficult for me. If
such was your intent—to make me suffer—it has been successful, but—oh, please!
Won't you let me go?"

Brett
took a few steps toward her. "And to what end, Your Grace? If I should
release you—now, this very night—where would you go? Would you run to your
brother, to the very man who, only last week, threatened to kill me if I did
not make you my wife? Would you merely pick up where you left off three days
ago, and go blithely on your way to some solicitor's offices to seek your
freedom? Is that all these three days have bought me? By God, I'll not have it!
Not until I have some answers at least!"

Ashleigh
heard the growing anger in his voice and was dismayed. She had, upon seeing him
at first, hoped he'd come to discuss the situation without rancor. It was the
first time since their encounter the evening he'd come upon her in her bath,
that he'd seemed willing to talk, and she'd been hopeful they might come to an
understanding, that he might even be ready to release her. But now she saw that
the bitterness was still there, feeding the anger, and she realized she'd
better try to head it off; she might never have this opportunity again.

Rising
from the chair, she met his gaze, saying in as calm a voice as she could
summon, "I agree, Brett. We must both have some answers."

"Then
we'll begin with the only real question I have." As he said this his face
held no expression, but his eyes telegraphed a host of emotions—rage,
bewilderment, pain, they were all there.
"Why?
Why did you run from
me, Ashleigh? Was one night in my lawful bed so repugnant to you that you could
not bear the thought of repeating it? Did you find marriage to me so
distasteful, you could not wait to set it aside?"

Ashleigh
began shaking her head at this questioning, slowly at first, then ever more
wildly as tears started to spill down her cheeks. Oh, she loved him! She was
sure of it now, especially when she saw the raw emotion that was choking him
inside, releasing itself in anger instead of some terrible pain he couldn't seem
to acknowledge.

"Brett,
no! It wasn't any of that, I swear to you!
Please!
You
must
believe
me! Oh, I know now I was wrong to leave without talking to you first, but
I—"

"So
the only thing you'd have done differently was that you'd have
talked to me
first?
'Oh, Brett, I'm terribly sorry,'" he mimicked, "'but I've
just had a change of heart.'
Is that it?
No further explanations?
Nothing?
Did that brief time together mean so little to you?"

Ashleigh
had opened her mouth to try to tell him he was wrong, that she wished to give
him some sort of explanation—having to do at least with Elizabeth's words to
her, if not her own fears that came of the vulnerability she felt at loving
him—but then his last question hit her with an impact that wiped all else from
her mind.

"No,
Brett," she said, her words barely a whisper.
"It meant everything
to me."

Brett
stopped and stared at her for a moment, stunned by her words. Then, with a
hoarse, animal cry, he reached out and pulled her to him in a fierce embrace,
bending to bury his face in her hair as he held her.

Locked
in his arms, Ashleigh felt the powerful trembling of his body; she moved her
own arms upward about his neck without thinking, for she was beyond thought
now, answering only to a compulsion deep within her. It said:
This is the
man you want, the man you need, the man you love. This is Brett, your husband.
Love him, love him, just love him!

Brett's
lips found her temple, her brow, her eyes, wet with the salt of tears. Again
and again, they passed over her face while he held her tightly to him.
"Ashleigh," he murmured. "Ah, Ashleigh, I can't ever let you go!
You've become some kind of desperate fire inside me... consuming me...."

His
arms loosened and he began to move his hands over her slender frame as he spoke
in hoarse, hushed whispers, his voice shaking with emotion. "I've never
needed a woman before, love... not in the way I've found I need you... not like
this,
never like this..."

Gently,
he loosened the sheet about her body until it drifted in soft folds to the
floor. Then he withdrew a pace, holding her at arm's length, and his eyes swept
hungrily over her body before coming to rest on her face.

"Ashleigh...?"
he questioned.

She
raised her eyes to meet his, then gasped at what she saw there. Of course, she
had expected desire, and it was clearly evident, a raw hunger so powerful her
knees threatened to buckle with its impact; but going far beyond this was
something that touched her to the core: his eyes held a look so vulnerable, she
thought at first she might be imagining it, but then she knew it was real.
Here, for the first time, was Brett with his defenses stripped away. Gone was
the taunting mockery, the anger, the worldly sophistication, all the things
she'd felt were a barrier between them; in their place was a naked plea that
said:
I
am showing you my soul. I am baring my pain. Take it,
and
do not throw it away. It is all I know how to give you right now, but it is
everything I have....

Ashleigh's
breath caught as she understood. He might not love her—at least, not yet—but he
was giving her far more than he had ever given before. For now, it was enough.
Her breath came out in a rush as she threw herself into his arms with a small
cry. "Oh, Brett,
I'm so sorry!
Forgive me, darling, forgive me!
I—"

"No
need now, love," he rasped. "Just stay with me... be with
me...."

Then
his mouth swooped down to capture hers in a kiss that was fraught with longing
and urgent need. Hungrily, his lips crossed hers, then crossed again, tasting,
taking, giving everything his eyes had promised.

Then
he was bending to sweep her into his arms, carrying her to the bed they'd
shared in celibate loneliness the nights before. Once there, he eased her
gently onto the mattress, stood, and quickly undressed before he joined her.

Ashleigh
watched with greedy eyes as he shed his clothes, realizing she was finally as
ready for the sight of his naked flesh as he had been for hers. Silently, her
face full of wonder, she drank in the sight of the broad, massive shoulders,
the muscular chest covered with whorls of dark chestnut hair, the powerful
thighs, the hard, flat abdomen and lean hips, and— oh yes—the very bold and
evident proof of his arousal!

Brett
caught her stare, and when he had stretched beside her on the bed, his eyes
held gentle amusement as they found hers. "I take it I meet with Her
Grace's approval?"

"Oh,
Brett," she cried, "I find you so—
so beautiful!"

His
laugh was shaky as he drew her to him. "Sweetheart," he breathed,
"beauty didn't exist until God made you!"

He
began to make love to her then, with a gentle tenderness at first, his hands
and caressing lips repeating the message of his words; with kisses light as
down, he found her eyes, her ears, the sensitive corners of her mouth; with a
touch lighter than a butterfly's wing, his fingers traced the slim, white
column of her throat, the satiny curve of her shoulder, the lush fullness of
her breasts. But when they grazed the rosy peaks of her nipples and Ashleigh's
eyes flew open, meeting his and telling him instantly of the potent response
he'd wrought, his touch became more insistent, urging her passion forward to
meet the growing hunger of his own.

And
Ashleigh responded wildly, arching her hips upward to meet his, pulling his
head to hers as her mouth opened for his kiss. Eagerly, she met his questing
tongue as her slender hands moved down the back of his head, his neck, and
across the broad shoulders that, in her mind's eye, she could still see as he'd
stood before her moments before. And when Brett's hands were slow to descend to
her waist and lower, to her undulating hips and thighs, she reached for one
hand and drew it to the dark triangle between.

A
hoarse, surprised gasp from him was followed by a warm murmur of approval as
his lips moved to her ear. "So eager, little one?" he laughed softly.
Then, "Oh, sweetheart, how it pleases me when you show me what you
want!" Knowing fingers found the wet, delicious warmth of her woman's
place... then caressed... and caressed....

A
maelstrom of yearning built in Ashleigh, blossoming beneath his touch, and she
cried out with her need. "Brett! Oh, Brett, I want... I... oh,
please!"

"I
know, love," he murmured, "I want it too... want you... only
you...." With a quick movement, his hips met hers, his mouth at the same
time hovering over her parted lips. "Open to me, love," he whispered,
"...now..."

And
gladly, Ashleigh gave him what he asked. Thrusting her hips upward, she eagerly
parted her trembling thighs and a moment later was rewarded by the bold, turgid
heat of him filling her.

A
cry of rapture broke from her lips, and she reveled in the feel of his weight
on her body, of his pulsing manhood inside her; meeting his thrust with her
own, she took what it promised, crying out for more with every glad muscle of
her body.

And
Brett exulted in the pleasure he gave her, taking it and making it a part of
his own. Again he thrust, and again, until their candent movements built to a
crescendo of driving passion.