The Spinster's Secret (16 page)

“Most unmarried ladies are,” Gareth said, and picked up his tankard.

“A husband with money.”

Gareth’s face stiffened.

He lowered the tankard. “Are you certain?”

“Her first husband died in poverty. Apparently she doesn’t wish to make the same mistake twice.” Edward leaned his elbows on the table and stared at Gareth across the ruins of the luncheon. “Mrs. Dunn’s a pretty woman, Gary, and a poor one.”

“You think all she sees is my money? You think it makes me palatable to her?”

“I don’t know. I hope not.” Edward met his eyes squarely. “Don’t be blind, Gary. Don’t make a mistake.”

Gareth glanced at his empty sleeve, folded up and pinned neatly. His mouth twisted into a thin, bitter line.

“No,” he said. “I won’t.”

…

Both Gareth and the curate, Mr. Humphries, dined with them that evening. The curate gazed at Mrs. Dunn with open admiration as he ate, while Gareth looked at her with mistrust.

Mrs. Dunn noticed the alteration in Gareth’s manner. She seemed to shrink into herself as the evening progressed, her cheeks losing their pretty flush. Mattie noticed too. Edward saw her watching Gareth, watching Mrs. Dunn. Finally, her gaze turned to him. Her eyebrows lifted slightly. He read the unspoken question.
Your doing?

He conceded this with a dip of his head.

Mattie’s lips tightened. She looked away.

Edward cut himself another piece of boiled veal and refused to feel guilty. If Mrs. Dunn was on the hunt for a wealthy husband, Gareth deserved to know.

…

Gareth chose not to sit next to Mrs. Dunn in the drawing room that evening. Mr. Humphries appropriated the vacant seat alongside her with alacrity. Mrs. Dunn stared down at her hands, clenched together in her lap.

Mattie poured the tea. “Did you warn him off Cecy?” she demanded under her breath as she handed Edward his cup and saucer.

“No,” he said in an equally low voice. “I merely told him what you told me.”

Her gaze lifted from the tea cup to his face. He saw anger in her eyes.

“I didn’t expect my words to be repeated.”

“You didn’t ask me to keep them secret.”

Mattie’s lips pressed together, as if she’d like to deny this truth. She gave a short nod and returned her attention to the teapot.

Strickland requested another of Fordyce’s sermons on female meekness, a choice that Mr. Humphries praised. “I commend you on your selection, sir. Nothing suits a woman more than a proper meekness!”

The choice of sermon didn’t appear to give Sir Arthur any pleasure, though. His mouth grew more and more pinched as he listened to his niece read aloud.

“To all other virtues and attainments befitting your sex, learn to join meekness. Meekness is followed with every honor.”

Mr. Humphries nodded his agreement to this statement, looking self-important and solemn. Gareth didn’t appear to be listening. He frowned at the fireplace, his mouth as pinched as Strickland’s.

As soon as the reading was over, Gareth excused himself. Mrs. Dunn watched him leave, an anxious pucker on her brow. Arthur Strickland barely seemed to notice his guest’s departure. He launched into a bitter monologue, praising Fordyce and decrying the tendency of modern women toward foolish and headstrong behavior.

Edward glanced at Mattie. She sat with her hands folded in her lap and her eyes downcast. The speech was aimed at her. Everyone in the room knew it—except the curate.

“In
my
day, young women were guided by wiser heads,” Strickland declared.

Edward shifted his weight, making the chair he was in creak.
If you think that marrying your niece off to Quartley was a good idea, I don’t think much of your wisdom
.

“A proper meekness, a proper deference, are far more to be admired in a young woman than a stubborn and conceited belief that she knows better than her superiors!”

“You are quite correct, Sir Arthur,” the curate said. “Quite correct!”

“May I have another cup of tea?” Edward asked.

Mattie cast him a grateful glance and rose to ring the bell.

Strickland continued on his theme after a fresh teapot had been brought in, ably assisted by the curate. Edward had never heard a clock strike nine o’clock with more relief.

“Oh, is that the time?” the curate said. “I had thought it much earlier! Such a delightful discussion we’ve been having, Sir Arthur. The time has quite flown!”

He rose and began an obsequious leave-taking of his host and Lady Marchbank.

Edward lifted his gaze to the ceiling once the man had gone.
Thank you, Lord
. He tried to catch Mattie’s eye, but she was looking at the floor.

“A most worthy young man,” Lady Marchbank remarked. “He thinks just as one ought to.”

Edward rolled his eyes. He stood and bowed to Lady Marchbank as she made her way to the door, closely attended by Mrs. Dunn.

Mattie followed. Edward fell into step behind her.

“Matilda, a moment,” her uncle said coldly.

Mattie halted obediently.

Edward halted too. Mattie caught his eye and shook her head slightly.

He obeyed the silent message, exiting in Lady Marchbank’s wake, but he didn’t climb the stairs to bed. He lingered in the corridor. Arthur Strickland was going to vent his spleen, if he wasn’t mistaken.

Sure enough, the sound of Strickland’s raised voice soon reached his ears.

Edward grimaced in the darkness.

Ten minutes later, as the long case clock struck the quarter hour, Strickland was still berating Mattie. Edward shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He wanted to wrench open the door and command Strickland to stop.

He clenched his hands, holding himself back. He had no right to interrupt. He wasn’t Mattie’s brother or cousin. He wasn’t her husband. Sir Arthur was her closest relative—and if he wished to berate her, it was his right.

I may not be related to Mattie, but damn it, I’m her friend.
He took a step toward the door and halted as he heard the thump of Strickland’s cane.

The door swung open and then shut with a snap. Sir Arthur shuffled down the corridor, a tall, gaunt figure.

Edward stayed where he was, in the deep shadows.

He waited until the old man was gone from sight, then opened the door. “Mattie?”

She stood beside the fireplace, her head bowed. At the sound of his voice she straightened and turned. “Edward!”

“Are you all right?”

“Perfectly!” Mattie began briskly snuffing the candles on the mantelpiece. “Were you worried about me? I assure you that it takes more than a mere scold to overset me!”

Her smile and tone were bright, but he heard the faint catch in her voice.

“Mattie…” Edward caught her wrist as she moved past him. “That was more than a mere scold.”

“I’m fine, Edward.”

No, you’re not
.

“You are wiser than your uncle,” Edward said, pulling her into an embrace. “Don’t let him tell you otherwise. To have married Quartley would have been stupidity. Mattie, you
know
that.”

She bowed her head so that her forehead rested against his shoulder and sighed. The sound was shaky.

“Uncle Arthur went to a lot of trouble for me.”

“I know he did.” Edward stroked the nape of her neck. “But that doesn’t make him right.”

Mattie sighed again and pushed away from him. “Thank you, Edward.”

He watched her cross the drawing room, feeling helpless.

“Don’t judge Uncle Arthur too harshly,” Mattie said as she opened the door. “He’s a good man. It’s just…Toby’s death has been very difficult for him.”

Toby. A tide of guilt surged through Edward. He felt suddenly heavier, as if his limbs were weighted with lead.

“Toby’s death was my fault,” he said, his voice harsh. “Your uncle shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

Mattie turned her head and stared at him. “Your fault? Nonsense!”

“You weren’t there. You don’t know.”

Mattie shut the door. “No, I wasn’t there. But I
do
know this. Toby was an adult. He made his own decisions, his own choices. You didn’t force him to be there, Edward. No one did.”

The drawing room blurred. Instead of Mattie standing with her back to the door, he saw Toby, his face frantic.
Ned! Get up!

The muscles in his throat clenched. He smelt Toby’s blood, tasted it on his tongue.

Edward looked away from Mattie, swallowing hard.

She walked back to him. “You said that you made peace with your own death while you were lying on the battlefield.”

Edward swallowed again. He nodded, unable to look at her.

“But did you make peace with Toby’s?”

He cast her a startled glance.

Mattie’s eyes, grey and astute, caught his. He couldn’t look away.

Her hand rose to touch his cheek. “Don’t hold yourself accountable for his death, Edward.”

How can I not?

She must have read the thoughts on his face, for she lowered her hand. “Edward…do you think Toby would blame you? Is that truly what you think?”

Edward instinctively shook his head.

“Then why do you blame yourself?”

“Because he died trying to save my life!”

“Then he’d be very glad that you survived.”

They were just words, spoken quietly, but they knocked the air from his lungs, bringing tears to his eyes.

Edward averted his face. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Mattie put her arms around him.

“He’d be glad, Edward,” she said gently. “
Glad
.”

Edward blew out a shaky breath. He blinked the tears from his eyes. Mattie was right. He
knew
that she was right. But that didn’t stop the guilt from clenching in his chest.

Footsteps in the corridor made them spring apart. Mattie was almost at the door when it opened.

“Griggs! Have you come to collect the tea tray? We were just leaving.”

Edward followed Mattie into the corridor. Two candles awaited them in the entrance hall.
Toby would be glad that you survived
. The words resonated inside him. He could hear the truth of them, could feel it.

He’d be glad.

Edward picked up his candle and climbed the stairs alongside Mattie. The risers creaked with each step they took. On the first floor, their paths diverged. Mattie halted.

“Good night, Edward.” She held out her hand to him.

He took it. Her clasp was warm, comforting.

“Good night.”

But he couldn’t bring himself to release her hand. He didn’t want to let her go, didn’t want her to turn away from him, to vanish into the gloom.

“Mattie…”
I need you tonight
.

Mattie stared at him, her eyes dark and wide.

She moistened her lips. “Edward?”

His need for her was a physical ache. Mattie’s warmth, her company, the joy her body gave him.

He swallowed and tried again. “Mattie, may I…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence. To ask her would be to treat her as a whore, and Mattie was no whore.

Edward forced himself to release her hand, to step back a pace.

Mattie didn’t move. She stared at his face. He felt naked, as if his thoughts were engraved there for her to see, as vivid as the scars.

“Edward…if…if you wish…”

He held his breath in painful hope.

Mattie flushed. She broke their gaze and looked at the floor.

Edward realized that it was even harder for her to ask this than it was for him. She was laying herself bare for rejection, for humiliation.

He took a deep breath. “Mattie…may I visit you tonight?”

She glanced at him shyly and nodded.

Chapter Twelve

Edward stood outside Mattie’s bedchamber, clad only in his dressing gown. Faint candlelight leaked beneath her door.

He tapped lightly.

“Come in.”

The smell of Mattie’s bedroom was familiar, stale mutton fat. But instead of turning his stomach, the smell made his pulse quicken in anticipation.

Mattie stood beside the fireplace in her nightgown. Her hair hung in long, loose curls down her back. She watched him close the door, her eyes huge and dark in the shadowy bedchamber.

Edward walked across to her. “Are you certain about this?”

She nodded.

He stepped closer, tilted Mattie’s chin with one fingertip, and bent his head to kiss her.

The softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the eagerness with which she returned the kiss, ignited a fire inside him. He pulled her close, glorying in the fullness of her breasts, in the rich curves of her hips beneath his hands. A groan of pleasure rose in his throat. The taste of her was ambrosia—delicious, heady, intoxicating.

They kissed until he could barely think. The fire inside him was a roaring blaze. Everything was heat and urgency.
I could take her against the wall.

With that thought came a measure of sanity. Edward stepped back, dragging air into his lungs.

He held out his hand to her.

Mattie’s fingers slid into his. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips rosy with kissing.

He led her to the bed, released her hand, and shrugged out of his dressing gown. Then he helped Mattie pull the nightgown over her head, baring her to his gaze. His throat tightened, and for a moment he was incapable of breath. She was beautiful. Such a strong, rounded, ripe body. Such creamy skin. Such tantalizingly pink nipples. Such dark and secretive curls at the junction of her thighs.
Venus incarnate
.

He was aware of how scarred he was, how battered.
She deserves better than me
.

Mattie didn’t seem to mind the scars. She smiled at him, her eyes shy, and put her hand in his when he offered it to her again. Edward pulled her to him and kissed her, trying to keep it light, trying not to frighten her with the depth of his need, and slid his hands around her waist, feeling the smooth, silky, warm skin, and lifted her onto the bed.

She broke the kiss, laughing. “Edward! I’m too heavy . . .”

“No you’re not.” He silenced her with another kiss, this one fiercer. “You’re perfect.”

He laid himself alongside her on the coverlet, making the bed creak beneath their combined weight, and kissed her mouth, her cheek, her throat, while his hands explored her body. Her breasts had been formed with a man’s touch in mind, surely? And the wonderful curve of waist and hip, the ripeness of her buttocks.

He was drowning in heat, in a fierce need to be inside her.

Slow
, Edward reminded himself, pulling back from her. His skin was tight, hot. He couldn’t remember that he’d ever felt such urgency, such eagerness to bury himself in a woman’s body before.
This is what five months celibacy does to a man
.

He stared at Mattie, panting, trembling. She stared back at him and lifted her hand. She traced a scar across his forehead, then a second scar that curved down his cheek until it reached his jaw, her touch so light he barely felt it. He saw no revulsion on her face.

“Do they hurt?” she asked.

Edward shook his head. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, her light, careful touch had made his throat tighten, as if he was about to cry.

Mattie traced an eyebrow, then touched the corner of his eye. Her fingertip stroked down his face, pausing to outline his mouth, before running along his jaw.

“You have a nice face, Edward.”

He laughed.

She smiled in response. “Can we do it now?”

Oh, yes.

Last time he’d been afraid of hurting her, this time he didn’t have to worry. That painful barrier had been broken.

Mattie made a low sound of pleasure as he entered her. She arched against him. Edward’s breath caught in his lungs. Arousal surged through him. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, struggling to hold onto his control.

“Edward…”

He opened his eyes and gazed down at her. She was lush and beautiful, with dark eyes and rosy lips and hair tumbled across the pillow.

He managed to find his voice. “Yes?”

“This feels good.”

Edward laughed. “Yes, it does.”

He dipped his head and kissed her, and began to move, rocking into her, making her gasp and clutch his shoulders, setting a leisurely rhythm, drawing out their pleasure.
Slowly. Slowly
.

His whole being was focused on Mattie, on her softness, her warmth, on the intense pleasure of making love to her. The rhythm of their lovemaking grew more urgent. He was drowning in a rising flood of sensation, riding the crest of the wave. Everything inside him tightened, spiraling towards the knife-edge of climax. He felt Mattie shudder beneath him.

Edward wrenched himself away from her, withdrawing before his pleasure could overflow inside her. He almost didn’t make it, fumbling for his handkerchief, biting back a harsh groan.

He lay, half-stunned by the intensity of his climax. His pleasure seemed to echo endlessly inside him. His skin tingled and small tremors ran through his body. When he’d caught his breath he turned to Mattie, gathering her close, kissing her temple.
Thank you.

…

“Did it hurt this time?” Edward asked, stroking her cheek lightly with his knuckles.

Mattie shook her head.

“Was it all right?”

“Yes.” She wanted to cling to Edward, to beg him not to leave her, to hold her forever.

With effort, she made herself draw back from him.
Don’t make a fool of yourself. He’s not offering to love you
.

“It was better than last time,” she said matter-of-factly. “And last time was much better than I had expected.”

Edward grinned. “And how would you know what to expect?”

“Cecy said that it was awkward and uncomfortable and messy.”

His eyebrows arched in surprise. “You asked her?”

“Yes.”

Edward leaned on his elbow, looking amused. “What else did she tell you?”

He picked up a long, looping curl that hung over her shoulder and pulled it gently through his fingers.

“That was all she said, but . . .” Mattie stopped.

Just how much should she tell him? Instinct said that she could trust him, especially when he smiled at her like that, his eyes warm, his face shadowed in the candlelight, but…

“But what?”

“If I show you something, will you promise not to tell anyone?”

“I promise.”

Mattie came to a decision. She couldn’t trust Edward with her whole secret, but she could trust him with part of it.

She climbed off the bed, tiptoed across the ice-cold floor to the far corner of her bedchamber, and opened the secret cupboard, reaching for one of the two volumes of
Fanny Hill
.

“I read this,” she said, walking back to the bed, holding it out to Edward.

“What?” He sat up and took the book and turned it to look at the spine in the candlelight.

His mouth fell open. “Fanny Hill?”

Mattie nodded, holding her breath. Was he going to be shocked? Appalled? Outraged . . .

Edward tipped back his head and guffawed. The sound reverberated off the paneled walls and heavy ceiling.

“Shh!” Mattie said, scrambling up on the bed again. “Someone will hear you!”

Edward pressed his face into one of the pillows, burying his laughter.

Mattie hugged her knees. She drank in the sight of his body—naked, scarred, convulsed with laughter.
This will never happen again.
Edward would leave, she’d be alone.

With that thought came a pain in her chest, so sharp that it brought tears to her eyes. Her future stretched before her, achingly empty, barren.

Edward turned his head toward her. Amusement lit up his face.

The urge to cry became stronger.

Mattie swallowed. “What’s so funny?”

“Your aunt. Boxing your ears because you had a copy of
Sense and Sensibility
and all the time you had
this
. . .” He began to laugh again, muffling the sound in the pillow.

It was such an infectious sound that Mattie’s lips twitched into a smile, even though tears blurred her vision. She gulped a big breath and blinked several times. By the time Edward lifted his head, she had found her self-control.

“Fanny Hill.” Laughter still lit Edward’s face and glowed in his eyes. “You are an extremely unusual woman, Mattie Chapple.”

Her smile faded.
More unusual than you know
.

If Edward knew all her secrets, he wouldn’t be amused, he’d be shocked.

Or would he? He didn’t seem to think
Fanny Hill
was iniquitous. He was leafing through the pages, grinning.

She wanted quite desperately to tell him, wanted to have one person she wasn’t keeping her secret from. What had he once said? Everyone should have someone they could talk to without guarding their tongue.

“Where did you get it?”

“I found it in Toby’s room, after…after Waterloo, when I was packing away his belongings.”

“Ah.” Edward’s grin faded.

He examined the book again.

“Toby’s.” His voice was low, as if he spoke to himself, not her.

I’m Chérie
. The confession trembled on the tip of her tongue. Mattie held it back with her teeth. To tell Edward would be to place him in a dreadful position. He’d have to choose whether to betray her confidence or break his word of honor to Uncle Arthur.

She couldn’t do that to him.

Edward glanced at her. “You look very solemn.”

So do you
. Mattie shook her head.

She made herself smile again. “You don’t seem shocked that I’ve read
Fanny Hill
.”

“I am shocked,” he said, but a grin was growing on his face again. He was teasing her. “Deeply shocked! But since you
have
got a copy, we may as well read it. Come here.”

She did as he bid, shyly moving closer to him.

Edward didn’t seem to feel any shyness. His arm came around her, pulling her even closer, until she was pressed along the length of his body, bare skin to bare skin.

“Listen to this passage.”

Mattie rested her head on his chest. Edward began to read the scene where Fanny seduced her lover’s manservant. After several sentences she stopped listening to the words and just listened to his voice, a low, deep baritone with an undertone of laughter. She heard the rumble of his voice in his chest, heard his heartbeat. The sound of his voice faded, becoming a background accompaniment to the steady beating of his heart. She rested her hand on his abdomen, felt it rise and fall with each breath, felt the warmth of his skin.

Mattie closed her eyes. Edward’s heartbeat filled her head, his scent filled each breath she took.
I think I love you, Edward Kane
.

…

Edward finished reading the scene. He hoped that it had affected Mattie the same way it had affected him.

The pages fluttered closed, scene by scene— Fanny’s loss of virginity, Fanny’s entry into the bawdy house—until the book lay open at the title page. The publisher’s name caught his attention.

An idea burst into life in his mind, as startling as a sudden bolt of lightning. Edward stared at the publisher’s name.
I know how to find Chérie
. He’d been attacking the puzzle from the wrong end.

Edward closed the book and put it aside.

“Well?” he said, stroking Mattie’s shoulder.

Her eyelids lifted.

She stared at him, her expression solemn. “Well, what?”

He tilted up her chin, dipped his head, and kissed her, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into the pleasure of the moment, the softness of her lips, the intoxicating taste, the heat flooding beneath his skin, the rising urgency.

He dragged his mouth from hers and eased over onto his side, pressing against her, letting her feel his arousal.

Mattie didn’t draw back.

Edward deepened the kiss, reveling in the sweetness of her mouth, in the ripeness of her body. He slid an arm around her waist and held her close as he rolled, bringing her beneath him, settling himself between her legs.

He felt a brief twinge of pain in his thigh. With the discomfort came a familiar flash of memory, Toby standing over him, his voice frantic.
Get up, Ned!

He bowed his head against Mattie’s shoulder, waiting for the black flood of guilt. It didn’t come. Instead, he heard Mattie’s voice.
He’d be glad you survived, Edward
.

Mattie’s fingers trailed lightly across his hipbone.

Edward lifted his head and looked at her. In the soft candlelight, she was Venus, with dark, solemn eyes.

The edge of his urgency had faded. Edward pressed a kiss to the hollow at the base of her throat, licking, tasting, and then slid lower, teasing her breasts with his mouth, then her belly, and then slid even lower. He placed lingering kisses along her inner thighs. The skin was incredibly smooth, like warm silk.

The dark curls at the junction of her thighs drew his attention. He hesitated, then gave into temptation, stroking with his fingers, opening her, bending his head to taste her intimately.

Mattie gasped. Her body stiffened.

Edward’s own arousal kicked up a notch. He bent enthusiastically to this new delight, holding her hips down, pinning her to the bed. Mattie’s scent, her taste, unleashed a deep, visceral response within him. A voice vibrated in his head.
Sex
, it said.
Woman
.
Mine.
Arousal twisted inside him, coiling tighter and tighter.

Mattie’s body clenched in pleasure, her back arching, her hips trying to lift off the bed. A fierce, victorious satisfaction surged inside him. Edward lifted his head and moved swiftly up her body, bracing himself over her, wanting to possess Mattie with more than just his mouth. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath.