A Matter of Temptation (18 page)

“Raise your arm, bend your wrist, relax your hand, let it just dangle. You have such small hands. So soft.” He skimmed his thumb over her wrist. Satiny. He remembered from their excursion to the library earlier that the skin at her throat, so near his mouth, felt the same.

“The elephant?” she reminded him, sounding rather breathless.

Showing her how to make hand shadows was not the same as showing Richard. Robert could hardly keep himself focused on the task when such delectable rewards were within reach. He could nibble on her ear, skim his breath over her hair.

“Lower your two middle fingers. They form the trunk, you see. Then raise your smallest finger and your index finger slightly and you have tusks. Your thumb will form the outline of the mouth. Move it down to open it, up to close it.”

He took her other hand. “Now cup your right
hand over your left until you’ve created a head. Curve your fingers slightly until a little sliver of light gets through to make the eye. And there you have it. We’re in Africa.”

“Have you ever been to Africa?” she asked quietly.

“Only in my imagination.”

“I’ve hardly ever gone anywhere. I’d like to travel.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“I’ve always fancied a trip to Egypt. I don’t know why, but I’d like to see the pyramids.”

“Perhaps we’ll go someday. We could journey down the Nile.”

“I think it would take a lot of courage to do that.”

“It’s not so frightening when you have someone with you.”

She turned her head slightly, which brought her lips in line with his. He had but to move his mouth…he raised his eyes to hers.

“Eleanor says that storms are good for snuggling, that Weddington holds her and kisses her silly—”

“Kisses her silly? I’m not sure he’d find that description of his amorous endeavors flattering.”

“She loves him desperately…my arms are getting tired.”

“Are they? I’m sorry. Rest them on top of mine.” He moved his arms until they were beneath hers, supporting hers.

“Have I ever told you that I’m terrified of storms?”

Dear God. Had she? Was he supposed to know the answer or was it a rhetorical question?

“If you did, I don’t remember.” Insensitive-sounding lout. He thought he’d remember every word that she’d ever spoken since the moment he met her.

“I am,” she said. “Especially here, by the sea. It’s so loud and the wind sounds so angry. And I can’t sleep, which is the reason that I was trying to draw comfort from the hand shadows, but it would be so much nicer if the comfort came from you—”

And that was all he needed.

T
orie knew a moment of uncertainty when she saw the desire suddenly smoldering in his eyes, as though he’d kept it banked and was now free to unleash it. She’d been unable to ignore the tenderness toward him that his time with Richard had stirred within her. She wanted to know him in every way possible. She was tired of being the patient wife.

She wanted to open her heart completely. Then his hand was cradling her face, his mouth was on hers, and she realized that she might very well be falling in love with her husband.

She’d never known a touch so tender, a kiss so enticing, both encouraging her to surrender to his seduction. Not with force or insistence, but with
the simple act of granting what she’d asked for and taking no more.

Twisting around, she improved the angle, the positioning of their bodies, giving him permission to deepen the kiss, which he did with enthusiasm. She responded in kind, her arms going around his neck, vaguely aware that he was changing their position once again, carefully laying her on the thick carpet beneath them.

He had one arm around her, the other hand still on her face, his fingers inching up, becoming entangled in her hair which one of Eleanor’s servants had pulled back and braided before she’d retired for bed.

He trailed kisses along her jaw, down her throat, murmuring her name as though it were a benediction. Then his mouth was again on hers, with a subtle difference.

He was no longer holding back.

It was as though he couldn’t get enough, as though she’d never be able to satisfy the desire burning within him. His groans echoed around her while his tongue explored and his lips taunted.

“What do you want?” he asked, his breath mingling with hers, the kiss barely stopped as he asked.

“What do
you
want?” she replied.

“Everything you’re willing and able to give this night.” He pulled back slightly, his gaze near enough that she could see dark black flecks in his deep blue eyes. She could see the passion and the
doubts, but more she could see the fondness, the possibility for love.

“I want your hair unbound,” he rasped, “your buttons undone. I want your touch on my bare chest, my back, in my hair. I want to look at you but be so close I can’t see all of you. But mostly I want you to want what I have to offer. Give me permission and I will be as gentle as the night falling around you.”

Permission? What an odd thing for a husband to ask for. Had she ever given him the impression that she wouldn’t grant it, that she didn’t want this moment? Wasn’t she the one prodding and prompting and urging him on?

She would have never thought her husband, a duke, would be uncertain of her desire for him, that he would doubt that she wanted him. A man who ruled estates and was coming to rule her heart. She smiled warmly, and he dipped his head, kissing her cheek.

“I love when that little dimple appears,” he whispered. “I would do anything to keep it visible.”

The rasp of his voice sent shivers cascading through her, her stomach coiled and her heart expanded. “Oh, please,” she heard herself sighing, “oh, please.”

He returned his mouth to hers, and she thought this moment could be the prelude to something grand. He was so very skilled, his tongue swirling, waltzing with hers, an ancient rhythm. She was vaguely aware that he’d tugged her braid
from beneath her, while his mouth wove its magic. Then was gone, his breathing labored as he unraveled the thick rope of her hair and spread it out, bunching his hands in the abundant strands near her scalp.

“So beautiful, so soft.” He buried his face in her hair as though it were the most marvelous part of her. A tremor traveled through him, his body tensed, and it was as though he needed a moment to recover from a momentous discovery.

Turning his head into her, he kissed her jaw, her chin, her throat. Each touch ignited a fire that spread through her. Shadows wavered at the edge of her vision. And she thought of how skilled his hands were at creating shadow creatures, how much more skilled they were at eliciting pleasure.

Sitting up, he pulled his shirt over his head, and she found herself reaching out, flattening her hand against his chest.

“So beautiful, so firm.” She smiled up at him, he laughed, a sound she was coming to love.

When he returned to her this time, she sensed the joy and the wonder in him as his fingers skimmed over her buttons. He watched as his fingers undid one button, then another. Not in a hurry, not in a rush, but as though he was opening a gift, each part of the journey toward discovering what was nestled inside the box to be savored.

When the last button was freed, she held her breath while he parted the material. The wonder
in his gaze brought tears to her eyes. He molded his hand over her breast, moaned softly, and held it with exquisite care. She’d thought she should be embarrassed or frightened, anything but what she was: wishing he might hold it forever.

With a deep groan, he pulled her to him, the heat of his chest penetrating the coolness on her skin. “You can’t imagine how desperately I’ve wanted to be this close, ever since I first saw you making your way up the aisle.”

Before she could respond, he was touching her with his hands, his mouth, his tongue lapping over her skin, and she was touching him as well, reveling in the firmness of his muscles, the velvet warmth of his flesh. Oh, yes, this was what it was to be cared for, cared about.

Try having love without it…

No, she didn’t think so. It was part and parcel of the complexities of a relationship, the seeking out, the enjoyment…

A knock sounded on the door. She squeaked as it opened and a footstep sounded. Robert drew her near, her face buried against his chest. She inhaled his intoxicating unique scent, trying to fight back the mortification of being caught in such a compromising position, even as she was aware that he was seeking to shield and protect her.

“Oh, so sorry to interrupt but frightfully glad to see you were taking my advice.”

“I wasn’t.”

“No? Certainly looks like it. Anyway, it’s not important. A ship has gone aground in the storm, a ways from shore. I’m off to see about getting the survivors safely to the beach.”

“I’ll join you momentarily.”

“Good. But hurry. The ship’s listing and if it goes—”

“I’ll be there!”

“Right.”

The door banged shut. Robert lowered her to the floor and rolled away from her. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

Sitting up, she began refastening her buttons, watching as he put his shirt back on before jerking on his boots.

“But you’re foxed.”

“I’ve sobered up considerably.” He glanced over at her. “Although I daresay I could easily become drunk on your kisses.”

She thought she might have become a little drunk on his.

He stood, stomping his feet into his boots.

“You’re going to help them?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. Don’t look so worried. I’ve helped before. I know what to do.”

Did she look worried? Probably because she was.

“But it’s storming—”

“Yes, that’s what caused the problem.” He reached for the jacket resting over the back of a chair.

“How will you help them? If they’re on the boat—”

“We’ll row out, bring a few at a time back to shore.”

“When did you help before?”

“When we were lads.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet, suddenly more terrified of the storm than she’d ever been, terrified of losing him when she was only just beginning to truly possess him. Her body was still humming, seeking something she didn’t quite understand. Her lips were swollen, tingling, and carried the taste of him on them.

He suddenly stopped and stared at her.

“What?”

“Your hair. It does flow past your hips, like a velvety curtain, not really brown, but not red, dark like mahogany. Lovely.”

Self-conscious with his flattery, she pulled her hair forward, draping it over her shoulder.

“You will be careful, won’t you?”

He grinned at her, a devil-may-care air about him. “Of course.”

He strode over, placed his hands on her shoulders, and lowered his mouth to hers, the desperation in the kiss nearly bringing her to her knees. She found herself clinging to him, reluctant to let him leave.

He pulled free. “I have to go.”

He headed for the door.

“Robert?” she called after him.

He stopped and looked back at her.

“I’ll be here when you get back so I can help you take off your boots.”

His grin broadened. “If you are, then I’ll kiss you silly.”

She laughed as he disappeared out the door. Laughed, for goodness’ sakes, in spite of the danger into which he was heading, realizing that she would definitely be there when he returned.

Torie sat in the chair for all of a minute before realizing that she couldn’t simply wait for him. Surely she could do something to help. She drew her wrap more closely around her and went in search of Eleanor, certain she wasn’t sleeping, either. The servants offered her directions through the massive manor, and she found the Duchess of Weddington standing in front of a large window, three flights up, gazing out at the sea, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Eleanor?”

Eleanor sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. “Sorry. I hate the sea, you know.”

“No. I had no idea. Why ever do you live here then?”

“Because Weddy loves it so. It’s the only lady with the power to take him from me. And I fear a day will come when she’ll take him away forever.”

Torie joined her in front of the window. Whenever lightning filled the sky, the sea, the wrecked ship, the storm became frighteningly visible.
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Not even the sea has the power to take him from you.”

“A Gypsy fortune-teller once passed through the village, and I made the mistake of asking her to read the tarot cards and to tell me my future. She told me that the sea will take from me two whom I love.”

“Your Weddy could travel on the ocean to Egypt and that would take him away from you.”

Eleanor shook her head. “No. She said that I wouldn’t have the one I love for long. I’ve thought a thousand times of asking Weddy to move us to one of his other estates, far from the sea, but I would rather have a few years with him happy than a thousand with him sad.”

“Eleanor, no one has the power to see into the future.”

“Perhaps not. Perhaps I’m being silly. But it’s my fear that our time will not be enough that prevents us from engaging in the social whirl that is London this time of year. I want nothing to distract us from each other. I will never be ready for him to leave me, but I will make memories while I can. And now I’m being morose, and we have much work to do. We’ll soon have people to warm, feed, and find dry clothes for. You can help if you like.”

“Simply tell me what to do.”

Fires were lit in the fireplaces throughout the manor. Blankets warmed before them. Hot soup
heated in the kitchen. When servants brought the first survivors up from the shore, they were taken to the kitchen where they could remove their drenched clothes behind a screen in privacy and relative warmth because the ovens were going. Torie would hand them warm blankets, and when they were properly covered, she’d escort them to the large dining room where they were served warm soup, reassuring them all the while that everything would be well.

Servants eventually took them to bedchambers where they could sleep. Twenty-seven in all, passengers and crew.

Torie wasn’t certain what they would have done if Drummond Manor wasn’t so incredibly large. But it accommodated everyone.

At one point, Torie had thrown on a cloak and cautiously made her way down to the shore to watch the rescue efforts, certain she could do more there than she could inside where so many servants were tending to everyone’s needs. But she didn’t have the strength to row the boat that Robert and Weddington were taking out to the ship. She barely had the stamina to stand against the wind. But she watched her husband putting his life at risk for these strangers, and her love for him swelled as much as the waves from the sea.

She could hardly stand to watch, the anxiety and terror growing that she’d see him killed.

It wasn’t until she returned to the house that
she realized she would cause additional work for the staff, because now she needed to be dried and warmed. Eleanor brought another nightgown to her bedchamber.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” Torie said, after she was once again in dry clothes and sitting in front of the fire. “I’ll be down to help you in a bit.”

“I think the servants have everything well in hand. And I don’t blame you for going down there. This is only the second time that a catastrophe such as this has happened since I’ve been here. But I can’t bring myself to bear witness to it so close to shore.”

“Was Robert here when it happened before?”

“Not while I was here. I think it happened once before when they were lads. Ships and storms don’t often make a good match.”

“I don’t know him, Eleanor.” She held her new friend’s gaze. “I thought he would be ordering people about. I didn’t realize he’d actually be in the boat, actually go out in the storm. It terrified me to watch him. And yet at the same time he seemed so sure of himself, so unafraid, so determined.”

Eleanor knelt in front of her and took her hands. “Weddy once believed that he had no truer friend than Robert. Then the Robert we knew somehow went away. But he’s returned now. Trust your heart, and you’ll see the Robert that we all love.”

Finding Eleanor’s comment somewhat odd and
cryptic, Torie stared at her new friend. “When you say he went away, do you mean—”

“Ah, there you are.”

“Weddy!” Eleanor popped up and ran across the room, straight against her husband’s chest, giving him no choice except to wrap his arms around her to keep them both balanced and prevent their tumbling over.

“I’m wet and cold, Eleanor, and you’ll find yourself in the same boat if you don’t unlatch yourself from me.”

“I believe that I’ll simply hang on, and we can dry and warm each other.”