Trust Me (2 page)

Anne needed that time
away. Alone.

He had promised it to
her. And he didn’t like breaking his word to anyone, much less the woman he
loved above all else in life.

Good God, had he just
allowed himself to think that sort of sentimental tripe? Yes, he had. And it
was complete truth. He did love her with everything inside himself. Sometimes
the feeling was so strong, it was like a pain in his chest, in his throat.

And it was going to
hurt him even more to hurt her. He had hurt her. Just weeks before, at that
damned house party at Eastwood Place when he had been so resistant to loving
her. He’d been determined not to change for anyone, not even Anne. And he had
been mixed up inside and behaved harshly…
cruelly?
He drummed his fingers on the desk and swallowed against a tightening in his
throat. Yes, ever so briefly, he had been cruel to her.

Well, he’d vowed
never to hurt her again.

Yet now he must.

The heaviness in his
chest surprised him. He realized that he was actually quite…
sad
.

He had been looking
forward to their winter alone.

He released his
tension in quiet whistle, and then tapped his fingers upon the desktop again.

There was no help for
it. They must face this. No one could be allowed to believe that either of them
was hiding in shame.

The bed creaked and
drew his attention.

Anne had sat up, her
black-as-midnight hair tumbled over her shoulders and her dark blue eyes were
huge in a face that seemed a bit strained. A catch in his chest caused him to
hold his breath.

He glanced back at
the letter.

You stupid boy, did you forget yourself and stash your brains
in your breeches?

Well, no one would
ever accuse Grandmother of being shy of expressing a vulgar opinion in private.

He let the letter
fall to the desktop. He approached the bed and shook his head. He forced a
grin, to hide his lingering anger over the infuriating letter. “My shameless
darling.”

Her lush,
burgundy-red mouth dropped open. “Jon?”

He sat beside her.
The scent of lavender and rose oil and early morning indulgence in newly wedded
carnality. Resentment warred with rising lust.

He definitely was not
ready to share her with the world.

He let his fingertips
glide over her bare upper arms, lingering over her silken, warm flesh. “I
received a letter from my grandmother.”

“Oh…” Still
heavy-lidded with sleep, she blinked several times. “Is she well?”

“Yes, my love, she is
well. Quite well.”

She dropped her gaze.

“You look so very
young. Innocent.” He chuckled softly. “Certainly not old enough or experienced
enough to be a woman of scandal.”

Gooseflesh popped up
on her arms and she pulled the covers to her chin. Her face flamed, as if she
were guilty. A trembling laugh escaped her. “Scandal?”

“Oh yes. Or so my dear
grandmother says.”

She raised her gaze.
Large, luminous sapphire eyes studied him. “You’re amused by this?”

“I am very…” He
lifted her hair off her shoulders, tossing it towards her back. He bent closer
until her rose-lavender scent intoxicated him. His already half-hard cock
lengthened to a full erection. “I am very aroused to be in the company of such
a shameless vixen.”

Desire pulsed with
his every heartbeat. It was hard to remember what had so vexed him. Hard to
keep his thoughts focused. He put his mouth to the junction where her neck met
her shoulder and nipped her.

She gasped and
shuddered against him. The feeling of her sensations, of his power over her
sensations, made him want to grasp her tighter. To contain and confine her. To
tie her to this bed and to make her beg and scream for—

“Jon, please don’t
jest with me.”

He struggled to
refocus his thoughts. “I am not jesting.”

“What talk can there
be? We’re wed.” Her voice sounded weak, quavering, betraying her nervousness.

“No one in Society knows
that we’re wed yet.”

“Oh, of course.” She
paused. He could hear in her tone and see in his mind, she was biting her lip.
“How foolish of me.”

A bittersweet wave of
warmth centred in his chest. He moved even closer, more directly behind her,
and slipped his arms about her waist. “Now my love, don’t be distressed. We
must face this with the proper attitude.”

She half turned to
face him. “Tell me.”

“It is really quite
silly. Cherry told many people about your having become intoxicated at dinner
while at Whitecross, about our—” He chuckled softly. “Our shameless
flirtation.”

Cherry, his former
mistress, had not been pleased that he had used her, quite shamelessly—and
rather successfully—, to provoke Anne’s jealousy.

Anne’s mouth dropped
open and she blinked.

He chuckled again.

“Shameless
flirtation?” She spoke the words incredulously, as if she hadn’t heard him
correctly. She put her hands to his chest and pushed.

He let her go and
backed away. She looked so adorable in her outrage, he couldn’t help grinning.

She gaped. “But at
Whitecross… we barely spoke in front of others!”

He studied her
flushed, beautiful face. Beneath her cool, prickly exterior, there beat a
sensitive heart. She had lived so isolated, her whole life. He would not, at
this time, tell her the plans forming in his mind. First, let her become
accustomed to the idea that they were the object of public speculation. There
would be time later to tell her the rest, to discuss what must be done. But let
her enjoy their last day here without the dread he knew she must experience
later.

“Cherry made far more
of those matters than they were. She’s a selfish little b—” He remembered he
was with his lady wife. It was a strange sense of inhibition which he found
himself experiencing more and more of late. “Cherry is a selfish witch. She’s
not worthy of your worry.”

“I only had a little
wine at supper.”

“Anne, I don’t think
I ever saw a lady down as many glasses in one setting as you did that night.”

She dropped her gaze
and hugged herself. “I was thoroughly provoked.”

“Perhaps you were.”

She glanced up.
“Indeed I was.”

Her large, luminous
sapphire gaze was penetrating. Accusing.

In his mind, he saw
the flash of Anne’s eyes that first time he’d taken notice of her. Truly taken
notice. She’d been such a quiet, dark little mouse in her drab plum mourning
gowns, lurking around Whitecross Hall.

But that day he saw
her, standing there in a dim corridor. A single shaft of sunlight from a high, porthole-shaped
window had made the dust motes appear to dance and the blue lights glisten in
her hair and her skin glow like amber.

He had paused.

The dark fan of her
thick lashes lifted and her eyes caressed him from head to foot with a slow,
sensual sidelong glance.

Dear God, the sudden
revelation of her loveliness— He’d been transfixed.

She’d lifted her
gaze—she had never done so with him before—, her large, sapphire eyes met his.
And how she’d looked at him. God. Yes, such frank admiration would have turned
any man’s head. But it was the aching, unfulfilled carnal hunger that
smouldered in her eyes that had made him catch his breath.

He’d thought to make
a conquest of her.

Instead, the force of
her slumbering sensuality had stopped him in his tracks long enough for him to
fall under her spell.

His desire had made
him reckless.

Reckless about a
seduction for the first time in his life.

He had pressed his
desire for a brief
affaire
upon her
too forcefully. Too single-mindedly.

It had been a
dreadful loss of control.

That lapse in
self-discipline still disturbed him.

“Guilty as charged,
my lady.” He chuckled softly to cover his sense of remorse and shame. He wasn’t
used to having such feelings and they rested on him uncomfortably. He didn’t
quite know what to do with them.

She drew her knees up
and rested her chin on them. “It was a moment of weakness. I was not myself.”

Neither of Anne or
Jon had been in their right mind during that time. It cost him to admit his own
loss of control. But he never liked lying to himself.

“It is unfair to be
judged solely on such a moment.” Her voice was very soft.

“I don’t like it,
either. But it is the way our world is arranged. You are a lady and now you are
my lady.”

A knock sounded at
the door. Jon rose, answered it and took their breakfast tray from Anne’s
personal maid, Nellie.

“Is my lady ready
for—”

“No,” he said. “She’s
not.”

Nellie frowned. “But
it is already nine o’clock!”

“She’ll call you when
you’re needed.” He softly but firmly closed the door and then returned to set
the tray on the bed.

Anne’s forehead was
slightly wrinkled. Concern shown in her eyes. “Please, don’t be so abrupt with
Nellie.”

“She’s too
presumptive. She needs retraining.”

“She is a sensitive
soul.”

“She’s a servant.”

“She has been with me
since I was a girl.”

“She’s still a
servant and she should know her place.” He lifted the covers from the dishes on
the tray. Anne’s usual breakfast of tea, toast and raspberry preserves.

Her sigh brought his attention
back to her face. Her shoulders rose and fell with her deep inhalation, and
then they slumped. “Cherry makes me seem so dreadful. I am no worse than she.
She was William’s lover.” Her eyes flashed. “But then she was yours too, was
she not?”

He wasn’t a stupid
man. He wasn’t about to answer
that
opening. Instead, he ran a hand over her upper back. The tense feel of her
muscles made him frown.

He had plans for
today.

Plans he’d been
formulating for a few days.

And he wanted to give
her just one more day of their honeymoon before they must face all this
unpleasant business.

“Forget about Lady
Scott.” He caressed her back with slow, gentle sweeping motions but her tension
didn’t ease. He patted her softly. “Anne, don’t be distressed. You must trust
me to think on what to do. And you mustn’t worry.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll
give lie to the rumours.”

He put all the confidence he
possessed into his tone. However, he knew how vindictive Cherry and Maria could
be. As could his grandmother. A slight pounding began at Jon’s temples. Was
Anne strong enough to face the coming fire?

Chapter Two

The bed still rocked
from Jon’s abrupt jolting to his feet. She watched as he walked over to the
little writing desk and retrieved a half-full glass of Scotch. He took a deep
drink. He stood there for a moment, the crease between his eyes deepening.

It gave him such a
fearsome expression. He possessed such a savage looking visage. A long, razor
sharp blade of a nose, broad cheekbones and a thin, harsh looking mouth. Like
some Viking marauder come to abduct her. Upon first meeting him, she had judged
him one of the least handsome gentlemen she’d ever seen.

And the most
fascinating.

But his fierce look
still had the power to intimidate her and she hesitated to ask him what was the
matter. He glanced down at the desk and picked up the letter he’d opened
earlier.

Anne’s stomach
cramped and she set her cup of tea down on her tray.

He stood there,
dressed only in his nankeen breeches, with sunlight illuminating every breathtaking
detail of his broad shoulders and well-muscled chest.

“Jon?”

“Umm.” He didn’t look
up, just continued reading, whilst absently caressing his fingers up and down
the line of dark, chocolate brown hair upon his hard-muscled abdomen. His frown
deepened even more. He crumpled the letter in his fist.

“Jon, what is it?”
she repeated. Louder this time.

He looked up.
Annoyance flickered in his vivid blue eyes. “Aren’t you done with your
breakfast?”

“I suppose I am,” she
said, feeling a small sting of hurt from his brusque tone.

“Call for Nellie. The
day is growing old.” He picked his shirt up and pulled it over his head and
began tucking it into his breeches. “Get dressed and join me in the stable.”

Then he left.

****

“And how are you this
morning, my beautiful boy?” Jon’s crooning voice echoed from within the stable.

Anne paused at the
doorway, barely breathing whilst listening to his soft tone. Had his mood truly
improved? Or would his sharpness return the moment he set eyes on her?

What
really
had been in that letter to
disturb him so much? Had he been completely forthcoming with her? Why had he
turned his vexation on her?

He had been just as
imprudent in his behaviour at Whitecross as she had been in hers.

His brusqueness this
morning had reminded her of the way he’d been at Eastwood Place, at that wicked
party, when he had reacted so callously to her.

Her stomach cramped
even harder.

Oh, that he could
revert to such curtness so easily…

No, she didn’t expect
perfection from Jon. As a girl, she had secretly craved for other people to be
consistent with her, to be reliable. However, she knew better than to expect
too much consistency from any person. It was human nature for people to
disappoint each other.

But she feared her
own reaction if Jon were to become so unpredictable and cruel ever again. She
wasn’t sure she could remain open or understanding in the face of such a
temperament.

She loved him dearly.
She had allowed herself to become dependent on him in too many ways.

The heaviness in her
stomach increased and her breathing quickened with panic. She balled her hands.

She needed to
withdraw, to protect herself. But it was probably too late. She had lost
herself to him.

No, she couldn’t
think that way. She wanted their marriage to work. She wanted a real marriage
to a gentleman she could be proud of. She wanted children and she wanted them
with Jon. Or no other.

But suppose this was
Jon’s true face?

Hadn’t Lady Maria
Waterbury, Mr David Kean and several other people tried to tell her exactly
that?

Oh God, she just
couldn’t bear to be disappointed by one more person in her life. She had kept
her heart protected for years and then Jon had promised her so much and she had
chosen to believe in him. To take a risk for their love.

A risk to gain everything.

She had to trust him.

As she peered into
the stable, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust from the bright morning
sun. A vertical striped pattern of light and shadow from the high window
gleamed on pale ash-blond hair and the bluish lights in the stallion’s sleek
black coat.

She approached them,
her footfalls crunching softly on the straw-strewn floor. Her eyes continued to
adjust and Jon and the horse came into focus.

Jon had removed the
leather glove from one large hand and he stroked the long, sleek forelock.

The horse nickered
again.

“Chilly, is it not,
my pretty fellow?” Jon murmured.

Anne cleared her
throat as loudly as she could manage, and the sound echoed through the stable
and up into the rafters.

Jon looked over his
shoulder.

“My goodness,” she
said, forcing a teasing note into her tone. “How did you two ever bear being
apart for so many weeks?”

He grinned and then
glanced back to the horse. “Do you hear that, Hades? She’s making sport of us.”

Hades had arrived two
days ago from Jon’s estate, Blackmore Castle, and would accompany them on their
coming trip to Scotland.

Jon turned halfway to
her and held out his arm. “Come, Hades wants to say good morning.”

She walked over to
him, but not without a rapid acceleration of her pulse and hesitation in her
step. Hades was a monster of a black stallion and she still wasn’t altogether
comfortable around horses.

For more than a year
after her first husband had been killed in a brutal accident, she had been
trapped at Whitecross Hall by a fear of horses and carriages. She’d been
totally alone with no one she felt comfortable confiding in until she had met
Jon.

His aura of strength
and bravery led her to believe he could teach her how to muster the nerve to
ride in a carriage again. For some reason, she had trusted him with her secret.
She had slipped away as though going on a visit to a distant relative. But she
had gone into isolation with Jon and he had worked so hard to help her overcome
her fear of horses.

Now Jon pulled her
against his tall, hard-muscled frame. The fragrance of his shaving soap clung
to him. The sense of his strength soaked through her.

He reached into his
pocket then held up a shiny red apple. “Care to do the honours?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“You must make
friends with Hades.”

She laughed, weakly.
“Hades, your first love.”

He tightened his arm
about her waist. “You mustn’t be jealous, my love.”

She turned her head,
enough to give him an arch look. “I know what I saw.”

He chuckled, the
sound echoing deep through his body. “But you are first in my heart, after
Hades.”

“Ohh!” she cried,
struggling against his hold.

He squeezed her
harder, preventing her escape. “You must accept your place, wench.”

The press of his
swelling loins against her back told her that for the moment, she was very much
in first place with him. He nipped at her neck.

The feel of his
virility, his power, sent atavistic thrills through her and she forgot
everything but the sensation of being young and in love. He made her feel so
different than she had ever felt in her life. His presence made it so easy for
her to be girlish, to be playful.

“No!” she squealed
and increased her struggles. She’d learned that it was better to move about in
a frantic flurry of short manoeuvres than to try and push away from him.

And with one hand
holding the apple and an arm about her waist, it would be that much harder for
him to maintain his hold.

His deep laughter
resounded through the stable. “Trying to hold you is like trying to manage a
sack of hissing cats.”

Thus engaged, they
danced away from Hades and moved about the small space and for a few moments,
it appeared she just might get away from him this time. But he put the apple
back in his pocket and then, somehow, she found herself turned about with her
back against the stable wall.

He wrapped his hand
about her throat, gently. “Behave yourself, wench.”

Her heart pounded
from the exertion and her mouth was dry now from anticipation. The fluttery,
tickling sensation in her stomach made her giggle.

“You know the
terrible things that can happen to a wench in the stables,” he said, pressing
his erection against her stomach, “when she finds herself alone with the
master.”

She caught her breath
and tried to pantomime dismay, but another wave of excitement threw her into
breathless giggles.

A masculine cough
sounded, distantly. But close enough that Jon released her and stepped back.
“Do you think you can behave for the sake of the servants?”

She swallowed her
laughter. “I’ll try.”

“Come now.” He pulled
the apple out again. “Hades is very gentle. And he told me he thinks you are a
lovely lady. He’d like to receive an apple from a pretty lady more than he’d
like to receive one from me.”

“Is that a fact?”

“It is an absolute
fact. He was born a warrior but he is a gentleman at heart.”

“I hate to disappoint
a gentleman.” She took the apple but she was shaking all over. She stared at
the animal’s massive black head and contemplated the powerful-looking jaws.
Everything inside her shrank away from the very thought of getting closer. How
could she possibly do this?

Jon moved behind her,
clasping her shoulders. He bent and kissed the side of her cheek. “I have you.”

She wanted to show
him how brave she was. She wanted his respect. Moreover, she needed the small
victory for herself. Tremulously, she held the apple out to Hades. The stallion
brought his head closer. Her mouth went dry and a chill shuddered straight
through her, it seemed particularly centred in her jawbones and rocking into
her skull, down her spine. She tried to swallow and the sound came out like a
garbled moan.

Jon pulled himself
closer to her back. “I have you.”

The deep, confident
timbre of his voice steadied her. She found the will to move her hand closer to
the horse.

Hades opened his
mouth, showing his formidable set of teeth. He moved, straining through the
bars of his stall, trying to get his jaws around the glossy red fruit.

Her body tingled from
head to foot with renewed fear. She cried out. Had she only imagined she felt
his heated breath through her gloves? Hades chomped on the apple. Excitement
pulsed through her, making her heart thump hard against her chest wall. She
caught her breath, watching as his equine head seemed to move in slow motion as
he lifted the apple from her hand.

Jon hugged her a
little more tightly and, at his touch, she remembered to breathe.

“Oh!” The sound
forced itself out with her exhalation.

Jon chuckled, the
sound soft and warm.

God, she’d done it.

She’d actually given
this monster of a horse an apple!

Happiness washed
through her and she gasped with laughter.

Hades chomped the
apple.

Jon drew her away and
turned her to face him. His eyes were glowing with tenderness. “You’re very
brave, my love.”

Heat flared over her
face. A blush of pleasure. But the intensity of the moment was almost too much
to bear. She had to look down.

“My good girl.”

Warmth and pleasure
spread through her tummy and tingled down to curl her toes.

Jon tipped her chin
up until she looked him in the eyes again. He cupped her face and lowered his
head. He didn’t close his eyes but focused more intently on her. She drowned in
the blue depths of his gaze. It made her dizzy. Or was he bending her
backwards? He put his mouth on hers, soft, warm pressure.

Heavy footfalls,
boots on the paving stones outside, broke the spell. He lifted his head and set
her gently apart from him. Then he glanced over his shoulder and called a
greeting to Mr Riley, the head groom, a man who had served under him in the
Dragoons.

They spoke of Hades
and jested over his appetite. Neither man bothered to hide his fondness for the
animal. Horses. Truly they were a unifying factor between all men, no matter
their station.

They spoke then of
preparations for the arrival of Anne’s beloved mare, Neroli. Her heart gave a
little leap of joy. Jon had vowed to her that they would spend the winter in
Scotland, with him helping her to be able to mount and ride a horse on her own
once more.

She watched Mr Riley
leave then she glanced about and wished she and Jon were still isolated at Applecroft
House, on Mr David Kean’s property, where they had spent their first month as
lovers. She would have knelt down in the straw and served Jon’s pleasure well.