TemptedByHisKiss (7 page)

A whore could never replace Calida. He wasn’t sure any woman could, though he supposed even his guilt wouldn’t be enough to keep him celibate for long. He certainly still had needs, his body reminding him with annoying regularity exactly what it was missing.

A new image flashed in his mind, the sensation of a pink-tipped breast, of his hand cupping its rounded fullness as he fondled the sweet, womanly flesh. And lips. There had been a pair of luscious female lips—trembling and eager and oddly innocent for such a strongly erotic fantasy. He remembered a woman’s hair, too—long, satiny strands as pale as moonlight that fanned down around his face as she lay above him; her little hands caressing his chest, her kisses as delicious as nectar stolen from the bees. He closed his eyes, hunger taking him, as his erect shaft tented the sheet that lay over him.

Lord, what a dream
. For that’s what it had to be; his mind playing tricks with memories of a drug-inspired sex fantasy. To his chagrin, he suddenly realized the identity of the woman he’d cast in the role of his lover.

Meg Amberley.

And it had been Meg, her soft moans sighing in his ears, her graceful limbs shifting against his as he touched her lithesome body—kissing, stroking, and caressing her
as he would never have let himself do in real life. And yet it all seemed so incredibly vivid. The way she’d called out to him while he was caught inside his nightmare. How she’d soothed and comforted him as she rubbed his shoulders and chest. How he’d awakened ravenous with the need to touch her and take her.

Yet the dream had ended abruptly, its conclusion hovering infuriatingly out of reach, like a puzzle with a single missing piece. A niggling twinge ran through him.

Shaking off the reaction, he flung back the covers and slowly shifted his legs over the side of the mattress. A large purple bruise stained his hip from yesterday’s fall, a minor misery compared to the others he routinely endured. Preparing to gain his feet, he caught sight of a book and a guttered candle on his night table.

I don’t remember setting those there
.

The niggling twinge returned, growing tenfold.

Rubbing a hand over his jaw, he stared. As he did, he caught sight of something else—a thin length of blue coiled amid his sheets. Momentarily, he froze. Then, with unsteady fingers, he reached out and picked it up.

A hair ribbon!
He brought the silk to his nose and caught the faintest hint of flowers and femininity on its surface.

Meg!

Quite suddenly he knew his dream had been no dream at all.

“I
understand the roads may still be treacherous in places, but nevertheless I wish to leave,” Meg told her coachman as they stood together in the front hall.

The brawny man frowned. “I think ye’d be wise to wait another day or two, miss, else we end up stranded, after all.”

A knot of apprehension formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down. “Be that as it may, we have imposed on our host’s hospitality far too long and must depart. I wish to be gone within the half hour. Please prepare the coach. The luggage is ready to be carried down at your convenience.”

Actually, the luggage had been ready since dawn. At the first hint of daylight, she had risen from her bed and begun to pack. After fleeing Cade’s bedchamber a few hours earlier, she’d been unable to sleep, her mind and emotions spinning in agonizing circles that refused to let
her rest. Her nerves were in a jumble, but she knew one thing for sure—she must leave!

Pinning the coachman with a grim eye, she donned her most autocratic expression, mimicking one she’d seen her father use on disobedient sailors.

Seconds later the servant cleared his throat. “Yes, miss. I’ll see to the horses directly.”

“What is this about horses?” demanded a low, masculine voice from the landing above.

Cade.

Meg’s heart jolted. Somehow, she’d hoped she might be able to depart before he rose from his bed—a bed he probably didn’t even remember she’d been in last night. She cringed at the memory, grateful her back was turned so he couldn’t see her distress. Drawing a steadying breath, she smoothed her features, then forced herself to turn while he walked down the stairs.

He looked tired, though gorgeous as usual, with his chestnut hair waving around his face, a faint pallor on his freshly shaven cheeks. She couldn’t help but remember the way those cheeks had felt, roughened with bristles, as he dropped fervid kisses on her lips and caressed her bare skin with skillful, knowing hands. Glancing up, she struggled valiantly against a rising blush that threatened to turn her cheeks as red as an adulterer’s scarlet A.

“As I asked,” he said, drawing to a halt at the base of the stairs, “why are you and your coachman discussing horses so early in the morning?”

Meg squared her shoulders. “Because I am leaving. The roads are reasonably clear, and it is well past time I resumed my journey.”

His jaw tightened. “But you cannot leave. At least not until we’ve had a chance to talk.”

She studied the toe of one scuffed black leather half-boot. “I cannot imagine what more there is to say.”

He leaned close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Can you not? Not even after your visit to my room last night?”

Her gaze shot to his, the blush she’d suppressed earlier spreading over her cheeks. So he does remember, she realized, her belly clenching at the knowledge.

“If you still wish to run away after our interview,” he continued, “you are free to do so. But first, we shall talk.”

Before she could regain her voice, Cade turned toward the servant. “Leave the horses to their hay for now. Miss Amberley will call for you later.”

The coachman nodded, then strode away.

Meg turned on Cade the moment the other man was gone. “You have no right to command my servant.”

“As I recall, he is your aunt’s servant. Now, come into the parlor where we can be private. Please.”

She nearly refused, but decided a confrontation with him could not be avoided. Dear Lord, he remembers, she thought again, wishing she could sink into the ground.

Instead she sank down onto the drawing room sofa as soon as she was able, leaving Cade to close the door behind them. Smoothing the skirt of her black kerseymere gown, she folded her hands in her lap and waited, her pulse hammering out a staccato beat. She sensed more than saw him approach, his halting footsteps muffled against the thick Turkey carpet.

Rather than taking a seat, Cade went to the fireplace, then bent to add a fresh log. Sparks flew upward as the wood popped, the red and orange flames licking like greedy tongues in the wide brick grate. She expected
him to begin, but he remained silent, leaning an arm against the mantelpiece as he gazed into the fire.

“I should think you would be glad to see me go, my lord,” she said, breaking the silence. “After all, you have never attempted to conceal your wish to be rid of my company.”

He turned at her words. “It has never been a case of your company…”

She raised a brow in a speaking gesture.

“Well, not your company specifically,” he amended, “but rather, company in general. I have no desire for houseguests, as you well know, and my opinion has naught to do with you personally.” He raked his fingers through his already disheveled hair, then lowered a hand to his waistcoat pocket. Slowly, he drew forth a familiar length of blue.

Her lips parted on an involuntary gasp.

Crossing, he held out the silken strand. “It would appear,” he said in a quiet tone, “that you are deserving of an apology.”

She shook her head and fixed her gaze on the floor. “There is no need.”

“Apparently there is, if finding this in my bed is any indication.”

The knot inside her stomach tightened another inch, a shiver going through her when he laid the ribbon across the hands she held clenched on her lap. Slowly, she twined a pair of fingers around the length, smoothing the silk with her thumb.

He paced a few short steps before lowering himself into the armchair directly opposite her. “Forgive me, but I fear I must ask just how far matters progressed between us last night. It would seem my memory is frus
tratingly incomplete and I can recall only scattered bits and pieces.”

Her fingers tightened on the ribbon.
How does he expect me to answer? Surely he isn’t looking for a minute by minute account?

“Did I take your maidenhead?” he demanded in a soft yet straightforward voice.

A flush burst over her skin, her gaze flying upward. “No!”

“No?” he repeated, apparently unconvinced. “So you are still a virgin?”

“Yes!” she stated in an emphatic tone. She might not know much about coupling, but she felt sure there was more to it than kissing and touching, however pleasurably intimate those acts might have been. Her body tingled at the memory. “Yes,” she repeated. “I am still chaste.” At least chaste in the way he means, she decided.

His shoulders lowered, tension visibly pouring out of him. “Thank God,” he murmured under his breath.

Her lips thinned, fingers rolling the ribbon into a ball. She supposed he was right to be relieved, she thought, giving the wadded silk a squeeze. But did he have to be so vastly pleased about it?

“Well then,” she stated, “if that is all…”

His scowl returned. “Of course it’s not
all
. Just because I didn’t take your innocence doesn’t mean nothing of import occurred. There is still the matter of you being in my bed—” He broke off for a moment. “Speaking of which, how
did
you come to be in my bed, since I distinctly remember falling asleep alone?”

Fresh blood reawakened the blush in her cheeks. “You were dreaming.”

“Dreaming?”

“Having a nightmare, actually. I was passing in the corridor after going downstairs for a book. On my return, I heard you cry out. I thought you were in distress, so I came into your room to help. And I…well…I…”

A glint she couldn’t quite interpret danced in his eyes. “Yes?”

“I tried to awaken you, but you were not your usual self.”

“No, I rather doubt I was, considering the draught of laudanum I had taken.”

“Yes, so I realized. You were thrashing and visibly upset and I…well, I don’t know exactly how, but matters got rather out of hand.”

“I see.” The sober cast returned to his face. “I didn’t harm you, did I?”

“Oh no, not at all, my lord. You…well, what occurred was not your fault. You weren’t fully conscious, and I suppose it was wrong of me to come into your room. I only thought to help—”

“Of course, I understand. However, that does nothing to mitigate the seriousness of the situation.”

“What do you mean?”

He raked a hand through his hair. “I mean that were I any kind of gentleman, I would offer for you this instant.”

“Offer for me?”
she repeated, her words trailing off. “You mean as in marriage?”

“Exactly. Despite my incapacity, I took advantage of you last night, and you have every right to demand I do the honorable thing.”

She twined the hair ribbon around her fingers. “Do I?”

“Yes. Thankfully, though, your innocence is still intact, and since neither of us has any wish to marry the other, I see no point in consigning us both to a lifetime of misery, trapped inside a union we do not want.”

Her gaze lowered to her boots. “I suppose not.”

“Nonetheless, I owe you something more than a mere apology.”

A chill settled inside her. “No, my lord. No harm has been done, so let us forget the entire incident ever happened.”

“Yes, but—”

“You owe me nothing,” she said in a resolute voice.

Rising, Meg crossed to the fireplace. Slowly, she opened her palm and stared at the hair ribbon inside before casting the blue silk into the flames. She watched as it curled, flaming red for a brief instant before crumbling into ash. Only then did she turn to face him. “If we are finished, my lord, I believe I will send for my coachman and maid.”

He stood. “You need not go—”

“I am afraid I must. Thank you for your hospitality. This has been one of the most…interesting fortnights I have ever spent.”

He tapped the end of his cane against the floor as though searching for the right thing to say. “Meg—”

“I bid you good day, my lord.”

Before she could depart, a knock sounded at the door. Beaks slipped inside. “Yer pardon, yer lordship…miss, but the squire’s here to see ye.”

Cade frowned, his jaw clenching with instant irritation.
The squire? Hell and damnation, what does he want? Though come to it, what does he ever want?

“Inform him I am not receiving,” Cade said, “and send him away.”

The servant shuffled his feet. “Tried, but ye know how he is.”

“Well, try again.” Cade cast a glance in Meg’s direction. “He cannot find her—”

“Hallo, Byron. Came by to see if you had survived the storm, what?” a man called from the doorway. Short, round-bellied, with a head of graying hair, he came to a halt just inside the doorway; his gaze homing in on Meg like a hound locating a fox. “Ho now, and who do we have here?” The squire’s lips curved upward as he shot a grin toward Cade, brass buttons winking on his blue and yellow striped waistcoat. “Regular Venus De Milo, what? Don’t say you’ve had this beauty tucked up here with you this whole time, Byron, or I shall be deuced put out. Introduce us, my dear boy, or name your seconds.”

Cade suppressed a growl, wishing he actually
could
name his seconds and put a bullet through the interfering old fool. But he supposed if he killed his nearest neighbor, someone was bound to take offense. Damn and blast, though, he cursed silently, why did the busy-body have to pick today to make one of his unwanted social calls?

“Ludgate,” he said, taking a protective step toward Meg. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Sure you weren’t, what with the roads being what they are. Frightful storm, eh? Can’t remember worse, least not since I was a lad—and I’d appreciate it if we don’t speak of how long ago that was, what?” He chuckled to himself, laying a palm over his belly. “M’tenants dug me out with shovels and stamina. Couldn’t stand another day’s captivity. I mean, deuced
awful being confined, like to drive a man mad.” He paused, shooting another inquiring glance between Cade and Meg. “But then you were obviously not lacking for companionship during the recent foul weather. So, are you going to do me the honor, or shall I be forced to shame myself and the lady both by effecting introductions on m’own?”

Cade stifled another growl, wishing he had the luxury of grabbing the other man by the scruff of the neck and dragging him from the house. But that, he knew, would do absolutely no good. Matters had progressed too far already—the dye having been cast, as the old saying went.

Moving to Meg’s side, Cade took her hand and gave it a warning squeeze. “Squire Ludgate, permit me to make you acquainted with Miss Margaret Amberley. My fiancée.”

“Fiancée!” the squire declared, his booming voice luckily masking Meg’s own squeak of astonishment.

Before she had a chance to say a word, Cade slipped an arm around her waist and hugged her close, brushing a kiss against her cheek. “Smile and play along,” he whispered into her ear.

Her spine was rigid, tension radiating from her frame in a way that made him wonder if she might object regardless of his admonition. Their gazes met and held for a long moment before she gave a subtle nod of agreement. Only then did he straighten to his full height and turn again toward the squire.

“That’s right,” Cade said, keeping an arm around Meg just in case she decided to object, after all. “Miss Amberley and I are to be married. You have the honor of being the first in the neighborhood to wish us happy.”

“Well, this is excellent news. Congratulations, my boy. Capital! Simply capital!” chortled the older man.

Striding forward, he grasped Cade’s hand and gave it a hearty shake before making Meg a bow. “A pleasure to meet you, m’dear. And may I offer my most sincere felicitations on your impending nuptials.”

She smiled and curtsied, managing the maneuver with easy grace despite Cade’s hold upon her. “Thank you, sir. It is indeed an honor to make your acquaintance.”

“As eloquent as she is beautiful, eh? A fine choice, Byron. Impeccable. Hope you won’t take offense, though, if I confess to a fair bit of astonishment. Had no inkling you were in the market for a bride, what with those war wounds of yours and the fact that you don’t venture out into Society, leastwise not that any us local folk can tell.”

Ludgate’s salt and pepper brows moved together. “Come to it, how did the two of you meet? Must have been before the storm, what? Can’t imagine such a fair thing as Miss Amberley dropping in upon you out of the blue and in the middle of a snowstorm no less!” He laughed, his belly jiggling beneath the exertion.