The Offer (25 page)

“Well, I have, but that's different. Men are
supposed to yell and hit each other. Now, I'm leaving. You've worn me to a bone. I'm exhausted. I have the headache. I want to escape before Phillip comes back and demands to know what I said to you.”

For a moment Martine just stared at her lover. He was the last person she'd expected at her door. “Phillip, what the devil are you doing here? It's early evening. It's the second evening of your marriage. Surely this isn't how things are done. You were here last night, after all. Don't you like this wife of yours who, I understand, is quite young and lovely and rich as anything? What's wrong?”

Martine always prided herself on acting the languid beauty. She was serene, she was smoothly flowing in her speech and in the way she made love. But now, she couldn't help herself, she stared nearly openmouthed at him.

“Good evening, Martine,” Phillip said, tossing his greatcoat onto the back of a chair. “Yes, I'm here. Yes, it's the second night of my marriage. So? Am I suddenly not welcome?” He strolled over to his staring mistress and kissed her.

“You are always welcome, you know that.” He straightened. She searched his face, drawn as she suspected most women were to his beautiful eyes and that passionate mouth of his.

“You are newly married.”

“I, more than you, know that. Why are you chiding me? Oh yes, I know that tone of voice. I just heard it this morning, along with anger and resentment and
illogic. So, don't you do it. Just leave me be and be yourself.”

“This girl you didn't compromise, she's angry with you? That doesn't make much sense, Phillip. Surely she would be grateful to you, worship at your feet for the nobility of your character.”

He had the grace to wince. “Whatever else she may be, at least she's now safe.”

Phillip turned to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of port. Martine watched him silently as he quickly downed the port and filled his glass again.

“Did the carpenter come and fix the damned ceiling?”

“Yesterday. Didn't you notice last night?”

He nodded. Yes, he remembered now.

“He was a saucy man, that one. He grinned at me and said that his lordship didn't have to worry anymore about having his brains splattered on my pillows.”

“Now that's an unappetizing vision.”

He set down his glass and gave her a bow, waving his hand toward the door. “Will you join me upstairs, Martine? My need for you is great.”

She didn't think that was the case at all, but she gave him a sweet smile and her hand.

As she was removing her gown upstairs in her elegant, very feminine bedchamber, she turned to the viscount, who was standing next to the fireplace staring at nothing in particular. “Phillip.”

He grunted, not looking up from the flames.

“The little one, she is alone?”

Phillip's head came up at those words. “Why the devil do you call her that?”

Martine drew off the straps of her chemise and allowed the soft material to float to her waist. Oddly,
his eyes didn't waver from her face. Now this was strange. “I called her that because I saw her.”

“Where would you see my wife?”

“In the park today. She was riding in Charles Askbridge's phaeton.”

She saw his lovely eyes darken, a fascinating sight. She wasn't at all fooled by his indifferent shrug. She wriggled lazily out of the rest of her clothes, stood naked before him for a moment, then walked slowly to the bed.

He didn't move. “How did she look?”

“She looked as if she was trying to forget something unpleasant, perhaps. I heard her laugh, and she was smiling, but none of it was real, do you understand what I mean?”

“I'll thank you not to pry, Martine.”

She displayed herself on the bed. He still didn't move. “I'm not prying, Phillip. It was you, after all, who did the asking.”

“I told her not to have anything to do with Charles. She wanted to send him a message, on the second day of her marriage to me, she wanted to be with another man. But since you saw her, then she disobeyed me. Not that I'm surprised, of course.” He began to pull off his clothes. Suddenly he stopped.

“The little one, she has very unusual eyes. A soft violet. Unique. Just imagine what your children will look like. They will be magnificent.”

He didn't move. The firelight played behind him, framing him. He was utterly silent.

“Ah, yes, her eyes are very vivid.”

Suddenly he began again to pull off his clothes. “Dammit, I'll always have my freedom. I'll not be tied to her, not to anybody, it's nonsense. I'm too young. I don't want my hatches battened down. I know she wanted me to come to her last night, she as good as
admitted it, but I also know that the moment I touched her, she'd be terrified to her toes. No, I won't do it. But I'll do exactly what I wish. Yes, I'll always have my freedom. I don't care if I have to keep proving it to everyone—both to her and to me. It just doesn't matter.”

He was nearly naked. She just smiled at him, not really understanding him. He'd changed, she knew that, and he'd changed so very quickly, and he was fighting it with all his might. Men, in her experience, had a lot of might.

Then he was naked and he was on top of her, kissing her, caressing her fiercely.

Then he stopped. He looked up at the headboard. Then he rolled off her and out of the bed. He didn't say a word, just walked back to the fireplace and began dressing himself again. He said as he was pulling up his britches, “You know that Rohan Carrington had the reputation of an utter womanizer.”

“Yes, it came as a shock when he turned up with a wife and a daughter four years old. He is faithful, it's said. Completely faithful. It's said too that he loves his wife and he's besotted with his little daughter.”

“Yes, he is, but he was different from me, Martine. He never worried about freedom, losing it or gaining it. We're very different men.”

He raised his head and looked over at her. She was lying on her side in the most seductive pose a woman would manage, but he really didn't notice. He said, “Yes, I'm very different from Rohan. It seems I must cause hurt where there was none before.”

He finished dressing. He walked to the bed and kissed her lightly, passionlessly, on the mouth.

“I'll see you again, my lord?” She lightly caressed her palm against his cheek.

“Of course,” he said.

“Ah yes. It's all a matter of your freedom, isn't it?”

He stared at her hard for a long moment. “Perhaps,” he said finally, then he left her, not looking back.

She stared for a very long time into the fireplace.

 

The small ormolu clock on the mantel chimed out midnight. Sabrina lay wide awake in the darkness, waiting to hear Phillip's footsteps on the stairs. She wasn't at all certain how one went about seducing one's husband, but she was confident that if she managed to kiss him, he would kiss her back. Surely that was enough to get a man started down the road of lust.

She stiffened suddenly at the sound of footsteps outside the bedchamber door. She heard him pause and then his footsteps sounded down the corridor until they were lost to her hearing. Very well, he'd given her enough time to recover from her fear of men. She forced herself to lie quietly for some minutes longer to give him time to remove his clothing and settle into his bed.

She rose finally and walked to her dressing table to light a candle. She looked at herself in the mirror. It wasn't a frightening sight. Her eyes looked larger than usual and very bright. As for her clothing, she was wearing the embroidered nightgown. Her hair was shining clean, free down her back, and dark as burgundy in the candlelight. She slipped out into the corridor and walked to his temporary bedchamber.

She inched the door open and paused, blinking at the sound of his loud snoring. But she hadn't taken all that much time. Goodness, he was fast asleep. It was time to wake him up in a very unexpected way. She grinned in the darkness and walked on bare feet to the bed. He was lying on his back, still dressed in his evening clothes. His arms were at his sides. It
wasn't the scene she'd imagined, she thought, as she bent over to touch him.

She stiffened suddenly and whipped her hand back. She smelled brandy. She wondered how much he'd drunk. Probably a lot. Maybe he had passed out and really hadn't just fallen asleep. She sniffed again. She smelled the rose scent this time and she strongly doubted that he'd splashed himself with it to smell more manly. No, it was his mistress's perfume. He'd been with her again this evening.

To spare his virgin bride.

Enough was enough. It didn't matter if he was drunk enough to float away. She was still going to seduce him.

Very slowly, she slipped the soft nightgown from her shoulders. It fell in a gentle pool at her feet. Now that she was naked, she realized that he wasn't. What to do?

She wouldn't worry about it. She eased down beside him. She lightly stroked her fingers over his face—the length of his nose, his jaw, the outline of his mouth. How she loved his mouth. She leaned over and kissed him.

He stopped snoring. His eyes opened and he stared up at her. “Martine?”

“No, Phillip. It's your wife. It's Sabrina.”

“No, that's not possible. Sabrina is terrified of men. She wouldn't be here, kissing me.” His eyes fell to her breasts, pressed against him. “She wouldn't be here naked unless she was too sick to care, like before. I remember that I tried not to look at her breasts, but they were so white and soft. It was difficult, but most of the time I didn't look.”

His voice was slurred and soft. She lightly shook his shoulder. “Please look at me now. I'm naked so I can seduce you.” She kissed him again.

“No, it's you, Martine. You're playing a game with me. Very well, let's play.”

His hands came down on her bare back. “You've lost flesh, Martine, but by God you're soft, I love the feel of you. Kiss me some more.”

Phillip realized it was his wife the very instant he eased into her. From one moment to the next, he became instantly and completely full-witted, the brandy gone from his brain. She was very small and he had to push hard. Then he butted against her maidenhead. He raised his head and saw that her eyes were tightly closed. He tried, but he couldn't pull out of her, he just couldn't.

“Sabrina?”

She opened her eyes. “Phillip, I'm sorry, but it hurts. It hurts a whole lot.”

“I know, I know. Hold still and I'll try to hold still as well. Maybe the pain will lessen, I don't know. I've never taken a virgin before. Do you know how you feel to me? Do you have any idea at all what it's like to be inside you?”

She wanted to laugh but he was pressing harder against her now and the burning increased. “I'm inside me all the time.”

“I want to be also,” he said, kissed her hard, then shoved through her maidenhead.

She screamed, unable to keep her mouth shut.

So did he, after but a few moments of pounding into her, his head thrown back, his back arched, so wild were the roaring feelings deep inside him and he was deep inside her, so surely she must feel all that he was feeling too.

She was crying, tears seeping from beneath her closed eyelids.

He began kissing her again when he could move, when he could function, barely.

“You weren't afraid of me?”

“No. Well, just a bit, but only when you were looking at me. It wasn't the same way you looked at me when I was ill.”

“I hope not. You're beautiful, Sabrina. I'm sorry I hurt you. It won't hurt next time. Thank you for coming to me.”

“You're welcome, Phillip.”

He rolled off her, brought her against his side, pressed her cheek down against his chest and in three minutes, he was lightly snoring.

Sabrina lay there, her palm on his chest, over his heart, and she said, “I love you, Phillip. I realized I loved you when I was lying in bed at Moreland and woke up to find you there with me, just watching me in that soft candlelight. I loved you then.”

“If you loved me then why didn't you accept my proposal?”

She went stiff as a board, then tried to rear up, but his arm held her against him. “Don't fight me. Why didn't you accept my proposal then? All this would have been avoided, well, probably not, but Teresa would have had to take both of us on, not just you.”

“You're asleep. I heard you snoring.”

“I'm a light sleeper. The snoring is the way I relax myself.”

“You're lying.” She sighed. He said nothing, not that she expected him to. Then, suddenly, he turned to face her. He began kissing her, his hands on every patch of her, kneading her flesh, caressing her, saying sex words into her mouth, words she didn't understand. When he raised her in his hands and brought her to his mouth, she pulled on his hair and said, “Phillip, isn't this a very strange thing for you to do to me? It's very embarrassing.”

“Shut up. Try to enjoy this, Sabrina. I'd like for you to have pleasure this time.”

But she was locked into such embarrassment all she could do was bite her mouth and keep her eyes tightly closed. Finally, she heard him sigh. He opened her legs and slowly, gently, came into her. She was sore, but it didn't hurt too badly. He was moving inside her now and she knew that this was why she'd been ostracized. Everyone had believed that this is what they'd done at Charles's hunting box. Why would any woman believe that? She lay there, feeling him deep inside her body. She loved him but this was only something she'd do if he wanted it. She sighed. It seemed to be very important to him.