Always a Temptress (23 page)

Lifting her face, he dropped a quick kiss on her lips. Kate felt an unexpected
frisson
of awareness sneak down her back. How odd. In that moment, she felt closer to Harry than any other person in her life. He was right. They shared a connection, not just the pain and nightmares, but the fact that both of them had survived. She couldn’t believe it, but for the first time in ten years, she felt a true affinity for Harry Lidge, and it had been born in battle. His public, hers private.

“Well, I suppose,” she said. “Seeing that you don’t snore. I had to make Bivens move from my dressing room. Woman sounds like a hibernating bear.”

Comfortable together for the moment, she and Harry slipped into bed and slept.

T
he next afternoon, Harry and Kate took a break from the tedium of her uncle’s life to wade through the tedium of marital settlements. When the lawyers finally took their leave, scratching their heads over their contrary clients, Harry poured two glasses of Madeira and settled next to his wife on the library sofa. She looked melancholy, he thought, a bit displaced. Not surprising, really. The lawyers had spent a long time cataloging what she didn’t have anymore.

Harry had never really thought of it before, but Kate was correct. Men had the right to everything, no matter what was best. And there wasn’t a thing Kate could do about it but mourn its loss. Harry had set some remedies in place, but for now all he could do was try to lighten the mood.

“You have a knack for surprises, madame,” he said, raising his glass in a toast to the extensive enterprises she’d nurtured, both for her estate and its people. Flowers were evidently more lucrative than he’d thought. She sold tulips as far away as Ireland.

“Me?” she countered, clinking glasses. “I don’t believe I’m the one with shares in everything from diamond mines to steam engines.” Cocking her head, she took a sip. “I don’t suppose you get samples from time to time.”

He lazily slipped his arm around her shoulder. “Of course I do. Although what you’d want with a steam engine…”

She playfully smacked him on the chest. “A steam engine would scarce go with my new gold tissue ball gown. Which, by the way, I will wear tomorrow night at the Hampton ball.”

Harry grimaced. “I suppose you expect me to go.”

“We would be expected to dance.”

“I can dance,” he protested. “Wellington insisted. I just thought that once I sold out I wouldn’t be called on to gallivant around a ballroom anymore.”

She turned to him, her expression thoughtful. “Is it so distasteful to you?”

Harry thought of all of his plans, the carefully considered ones and the ones he’d sworn to amid the madness of combat. Kate might have seen the pictures the night before, but not the context. Every one of his dreams had sent him off alone, somewhere he could savor the silence, where no one relied on him, where no one else could be lost to him. Where the lingering violence of battle would have the chance to fade peacefully into extinction as he wandered through the undemanding halls of empty buildings. The dancing he’d planned to do looked nothing like the waltz.

“I imagine I’ll grow used to it with a pretty woman in my arms,” he hedged. When he looked down at her, he knew he wasn’t fooling her in the least.

“One of these days,” she said as if she’d heard every thought in his head, “we’re going to actually have to discuss our future.”

“I expect we will.”
But not yet
, he wanted to say.
For now, let me enjoy this nascent peace that has surprised me in this unorthodox place. Let me have a bit more time to draw my wife out from the shadows, like coaxing a deer from the woods
.

“When you imagined traveling,” she said, sipping at her wine. “Did you see yourself taking your wife along?”

“Actually.” He fortified himself with a sip of his own. She deserved nothing less than the truth. “No.”

For a moment she was quiet. “Your engagements are beginning to make more sense. I’m even more glad I interfered. Those were two girls who would have pined.”

Harry didn’t know how he’d gotten into this conversation. “As opposed to you?”

“Pining,” she said with an imperiously arched brow, “is beneath me.”

He grinned. “I am well aware of that, Kate.”

She sat for the longest time, just sipping, her focus on the dingy gray day outside the window. Harry knew he should interrupt, should steer the conversation away from dangerous shoals. He couldn’t seem to open his mouth.

“Then that is what you must do,” she said suddenly, still gazing at the window.

He went very still. “What is it I must do?”

“Get as far from the nightmares as you can. Walk distant roads and study the great cities and timeless buildings. Give yourself a second chance to live your dream.”

The breath seized in his chest. He actually felt dizzy. She was offering him everything he’d ever wanted. He should kiss her, jump up and get the hell out. Instead, he found himself forcing a smile. “Can we find the traitors first? I’d feel quite deficient as a hero if I left you to be slaughtered just because I want to sketch a bazaar. I might even mind it if Wellington were hurt.”

She turned on him, her forehead pursed with intent. “But don’t you see? There will always be something. The government, or me, or Eastcourt, or…oh, I don’t know. One day you’ll look up and your chance will be lost. I couldn’t bear that.”

He cocked his head. “Really?”

She huffed, as if she couldn’t believe he’d doubt her. “Really.”

Again, he had a choice. And he couldn’t allow himself to make it. “I’ll tell you what. Once we assure your safety, I’ll rethink the issue. Especially if you’re so eager to kick me out.” He rubbed at the tension in his temple. “Not that I blame you. I know damn-all about tulips.”

She dipped her head, unrecognizably uncertain. “I’m sure you’d rather not have to put up with me.”

Setting down his glass, he turned to her. “Maybe so,” he said, setting his fingers under her chin. “But I’d like to be given a chance to find out.”

Her eyes seemed huge and glistening. She had the oddest look in her eyes, as if she’d been holding her breath for a long time. He had no idea where the impulse came from that compelled him, whether it was a true expression of affection or just a desperate bid for distraction. He kissed her neck. She jumped.

“Sssssh,” he said, holding her still. “I’m practicing.”

“You’re taking…liberties,” she protested in a breathy voice, suddenly still.

He didn’t blame her. He was suddenly feeling a bit breathless himself. He could smell that exotic flower scent of hers, as if she’d brushed frangipani along her throat. He tasted the faint tang of salt on her skin. He felt the silken sweep of her hair against his cheek. And suddenly, it was as if his body had decided to throw off ten years of restraint.

“Harry…”

He nibbled at her shoulder. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Oh…that’s unfair.”

He smiled. His body, completely unconcerned with tact or patience or control, was tightening, thickening. It was fruitless, he knew. But he couldn’t help hoping he was making some headway. She arched her neck, just a bit, as if at war with her own body.

“Relax,” he instructed.

Setting down his glass, he took hers as well, reaching across her to put it on the table. Instead of sitting back, though, he let his hand drift gently across the lovely swell of her breasts, watching his fingers rise and dip. He could hear the rasp of her breathing; he saw her nipples tighten and press against the muslin of her gown. God, he wanted his mouth on them, his tongue. He wanted to suckle until she shrieked. He settled for just brushing his fingers back and forth, back and forth, so lightly he knew she couldn’t complain, so slowly he couldn’t frighten her.

“Is this all right?” he asked. “Since we’re going to be dancing, I figured we’d be…touching.”

“Touching…” Her eyes were drifting closed, her head drooping back against his arm. “Yes. I see.”

Her fingers were opening and closing on her lap. Harry hadn’t meant to become even this intimate. He wasn’t certain how far she would allow him to progress. His heart had begun to thud in his chest, and his groin was a giant ache. He was going to be in for a long cold bath tonight.

Bending over, not even breathing for fear he would startle her, he laid his lips against the swell of her breast. Her reaction was instantaneous. She gasped, twisting and pushing at him. It didn’t take Harry a second to understand. But instead of backing off, he held her. He could hear the rasp of her breathing, saw the wild look in her eyes. But he knew that he wasn’t frightening her. She was shamed. Humiliated. He had come too close to those terrible scars.

He knew he could do only one thing. Freeing one hand, he pushed her sleeve down. She flinched, not breathing, staring at anything but him, her eyes big as saucers. He looked down on that obscene design burned into her milk-white breast, a snarling wolf, and wanted to kill her husband all over again. It took immense effort, but he didn’t curse at the man’s perfidy. Instead, he leaned over and laid his lips back down on her, this time atop the brand.

She froze. He moved to the other breast and repeated his action. He felt a sob catch in her chest.

“You have never been more beautiful, Kate,” he assured her. “It’s a wonder I can keep my hands off you.”

She said not a word, but he felt her stiffen. He kissed her again, at the juncture of her throat. She softened a bit. Reaching down, he cupped her hand in his and sheltered it as he tasted her exposed skin. One kiss, then another. A quick brush of the tongue against that soft, satin expanse that left his cock rigid and painful. Her breasts were so firm, so high, her nipple clearly outlined against the delicate material of her dress. He licked across her breast and then, gently, blew until he saw goose bumps. Until he felt her pulse begin to speed and her breath grow shallow, until her eyes slid completely closed and she trusted him enough to rest against his arm.

He was shaking with the effort of control. He was dying with hope. He remembered an erotic little constellation of freckles on her right breast. He wanted to uncover them; he wanted to see if her nipple was still as deeply pink, long enough to flick with his tongue. He wanted to span her waist with his hands and dip his fingers into the wet, tight heat of her. He wanted to taste her and taunt her and stoke the passion he knew flowed beneath the ice of her fear.

He couldn’t. Not yet. Not if he wanted her to trust him, because suddenly that was more important than the hot arousal she was unleashing. It was more important than pleasure or relief or peace. Suddenly he knew that he wasn’t finished with his responsibilities. The responsibility might well kill him, but sweet Christ it would be worth it if he could set her free.

Lifting his head, he gazed down on the lush beauty of her face, now flushed and softened with arousal. He bent close to her, breathing so that she could feel it on her cheek. Gently, so gently she might think it her imagination, he met her lips with his.

“Open for me, Kate,” he commanded softly.

Her eyes flew open. Her pupils were huge, almost drowning the spring green of her eyes. He saw a flash of fear; he saw hunger. He knew she was fighting her terrors and decided to help. Bending back to her, he dropped a kiss along the very corner of her mouth. She instinctively turned to him. He deepened the kiss, searching her lips with his own, pressing, savoring the luxury of her mouth. He pulled her lower lip between his teeth and sucked at it.

Her heart was thundering now; he wasn’t sure whether in fright or arousal. He prayed for arousal. He decided to chance it and slid his tongue along her lips, wetting them, savoring their taste, gently, insistently, begging entry. And just when he thought he would never breathe again, she opened.

His body all but seized in excitement. His own heart was matching and outdistancing hers. For God’s sake, it was just a kiss. He couldn’t remember when last he’d spent so much time simply exploring a mouth. But this mouth was special. Breaching these defenses was a triumph.

Slowly, he leaned back, bringing her with him so that she lay half on top of him. He turned his head to fit her mouth better, moved his hand so that he could winnow his fingers through the silk of her hair, cupped her face with his other hand, and as gently, as carefully as a butterfly collecting nectar, he slipped his tongue inside her mouth and plundered it.

He felt her hands come up as if to push away. He refused to stop, searching out the hot, slick recesses of her mouth. He tasted wine and lemon and something smoky. He inhaled her surprised little gasps. He fought to control himself, in case she truly meant to stop him. But her hands, hovering just a moment between them, settled on his chest as if seeking balance. Her fingers curled into the collar of his coat. Her body began to melt against his, even as he could almost hear her instincts crying caution.

It was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done, but he held his passion in check. Even as his own body screamed for more, as his fingers ached for her breasts, her belly, her sleek, strong legs, as his heart thundered in anticipation of climax, even as he savored the lightning unleashed by the flicker of her tongue against his, he began to gentle his movements. He drew back from her, stroking her cheek with his thumb, stroking her lush hair, dropping kisses along her forehead, her closed eyes, her ear, her throat.

She whimpered in protest when he drew her head down to his shoulder and just held her. He could feel her body tremble with the passion he’d stirred. He wished to God he could coax her into continuing. But it was too soon. She was still too raw, her memory too intrusive. He needed to bring her along slowly until she could trust him more than that jackal of a husband.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, sounding heartbreakingly young.

Harry immediately lifted her face to him. “Unless you’ve just ruined my riding boots or shot my horse, I never want to hear you say that again. Do you understand?”

Her smile was a bit thin. Harry didn’t mind. He couldn’t quite take his eyes away from her deliciously swollen lips. “It has to be so hard for you,” she said.

He couldn’t help it. He laughed. “You have no idea. But it’s more important for you to get used to intimacy again. We have all the time in the world, Kate.”

The minute he’d said it, he knew it was wrong. They hadn’t come to that decision yet, had they? The closer he got to Kate, though, the hazier those dusty roads he’d planned to trek grew in his mind, and it unnerved him.

Even so, he was delighted by the sly humor in her eyes. “Well, we don’t have
all
the time in the world, Harry. Inevitably, one day your power will wane.”

He kissed her nose. “All right. We only have sixty years or so.”

And then he shifted, which just brought his cock into contact with her stomach. She flinched. Then she looked down.