Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (37 page)

Kieran’s face hardened. When he did manage to speak, it was
in a tight staccato voice. “I didn’t come here to seek your help in securing
the Wentworth fortunes. I came to see my sister. After days of being detained
as your unwilling ‘guest’ and entertained with constant frivolities by your
kinsmen, I have yet to receive proof my sister is well. When will I be allowed
to see her, my lord?”

Donovan took a leisurely sip of his port and regarded his
brother-in-law calmly. “Tomorrow.”

Chapter
Thirty Two

Elizabeth placed a ribbon in her page and set aside The
Romance of the Forest.

She was captivated by the heroine’s ordeal; snatched from
the safety of the convent by her nefarious father, locked in a room in an
abandoned farmhouse for days, and then foisted upon strangers in a passing
coach in the middle of the night--strangers running away from the law. The
fugitives had just set up camp for the night in an abandoned Abbey deep in the
forest. The heroine in the novel kept eyeing the eerie ruins with trepidation,
but Elizabeth kept looking at the clock, distracted by her husband’s prolonged
absence.

She tugged the silk shawl about her shoulders and wandered
out onto the porch. Puck trailed after her, his plaintive meows a reminder of
his devotion. She picked him up, cradled him against her neck and was rewarded
by his steady purring.

It was silly to fret over Donovan’s absence, her mind
admonished, yet her heart whispered a different song. Their closeness was so
new, so fragile. She had to do something to keep his interest. She couldn’t
bear it if he retreated to callous indifference toward her again.

There seemed one option—seduction.

The trouble was, she had no idea how to go about seducing a
man.

She paced to the corner of the veranda and wandered along
the main porch abutting the front of the house. Donovan wanted her. His desire
was unmistakable as they lay each night in the forgiving darkness. His organ
would swell against her, but he merely held her. He didn’t try to make love to
her. His desire was not the problem. It was convincing him to act on it.

Elizabeth turned about as a noise startled her from behind.

Donovan came tromping down the porch toward her, looking
quite perturbed into the bargain. “Where the devil have you been?”

“I might ask the same of you.” She returned, resenting his
demanding tone.

“I had a complication to deal with. Come inside. You know
how I feel about you being outdoors alone.” He took her hand and began leading
her in the direction of their chamber as if she were an errant mare wandering
from her paddock.

For pity’s sake, I’m on the second floor! Elizabeth managed
to still her tongue before she blurted her thoughts aloud. While his
overprotective tendencies could be quite endearing at times, there were other
times where she found it exceedingly exasperating, and stifling. He acted as if
he expected someone to swoop in and steal her away from him at any moment if he
weren’t careful. He was being ridiculous, irrational. She wanted to tell him
so.

Alas, her objective this night was not to argue with him but
to encourage him to make love to her. She set Puck loose once they reached his
suite, contemplating her next move. She didn’t know how to be coy and
seductive, having never studied the art as most girls her age would have before
entering polite society.

 “I see you found a book to occupy your time.” He noted,
glancing at the bed.

A rush of warmth bloomed in her chest as she remembered his
gift, a veritable library. “Yes, a deliciously horrid Gothic tale by Mrs.
Radcliffe.”

“Ah, and what happens when the tale takes root in that
fertile imagination?” Donovan gave her a rare teasing grin as he circled about
her with his hands on his hips, adopting a playful mien. “Will my lady be
starting at every sound tonight, disturbing her poor husband’s sleep over
melodramatic tripe?”

“No. I’ll sleep safe and sound in my big, strong husband’s
arms.”  

“Oh, will you?”  Mirth illuminated his pale eyes as he
stepped close.

“Yes, after he makes love to me, of course.” She replied,
smiling up at him.

Donovan regarded her with wariness. He stepped back a pace.

Had she offended him? Perhaps he believed ladies should not
bring up the subject of sex with their spouses. Her mother would certainly
believe so. Well bred ladies never spoke of such vulgar subjects, her mother
would be quick to point out.

“Don’t look at me with wounded eyes.” He returned, “You’ve
been ill. There is no need to rush the fences.”

“Rush the fences? We’ve been married for three months.”

He stood resolute before her, unyielding in his silence.

He was rejecting her, again? The hurt rose up, threatening
to spill out onto her face in the form of tears. She blinked them back,
resolved to avoid weeping at all costs. She’d wept enough in his presence for
two lifetimes in the past week, she would not weep or even give the appearance
of tears while asking him to bed her.

“Why do you push me away?” She asked after recovering her
composure. Even so, she was not faking the squeak that crept into her voice.

“I’m not pushing you away, Lizzie. I’m waiting, just as I
promised you I would.”

“I only want to make things right between us.” It was the
truth. She wanted to make up for all the time she’d lied to him and kept him
away. She wanted to make him happy.

Donovan’s eyes softened. He dropped his arms, made as if to
reach for her, and then seemed to change his mind about touching her.
“Sweetheart, there is nothing wrong.”

“Isn’t there?” She shot back. “I’ve been your wife for three
months and I’m still a maid!” It was galling, trying to get through to this
man. Elizabeth wanted Donovan to love her as his wife. She wasn’t living in
dread of it any longer, or trying to connive her way around it. He should be
pleased, damn the man. He should not be arguing the point with her!

 “And this bothers you?” He waved his hands expansively as
he spoke. “Not long ago, as I recall, my romantic overtures were rejected quite
vehemently.”

Elizabeth hissed her outrage. How dare he bring that up! It
was an embarrassment. And there was nothing romantic about the incident. “Sod
off, you arrogant coxcomb!”

“Ah, there’s the spirited girl I fell in love with.” Donovan
quipped, laughing at her fury.

Elizabeth slapped her hand over her mouth. She’d slipped
into using one of her stepfather’s crude retorts, a lingering problem due to
her head injury. She spoke her thoughts aloud when upset or made an impertinent
or vulgar remark. And he---the impudent rogue—was always amused by her faux pas
instead of outraged, as any proper gentleman would be.

Elizabeth wanted to scream at the man. He seemed to enjoy
their verbal sparring and tended to encourage her to cross words with him. Did
he find it invigorating? Amusing? Perhaps it was preferable to him after the
torrent of tears he’d endured of late.

Again, she had to guide her mind away from their debate and
back to her objective. “I was a ninny back then. I’m not afraid of you anymore,
Donovan, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. I’m not afraid, I-I’m ready—“

“Well, I’m not.” He cut in before she could inform him of
her change of heart.

His bold declaration left her with dampened enthusiasm. Honestly!
She was offering herself to the man again--and he was brushing her offer
aside--again.

He stood with his hands across his chest, reeking
impatience. “I’ve had a hell of a day. I’m tired, I’m dirty. I need a bath and
a drink.”

 Elizabeth had no reply. As she stared at him, incredulous,
he moved across the room and jerked the bell pull.

*******

Damn it. Donovan sat in the steaming tub behind the dressing
screen. It wasn’t a lie. He was tired, dirty, and furious.

He did not intend to touch her after just leaving her
‘undead’ brother--after coming close to beating her wretched stepfather into a
bloody pulp at the indenture compound. He was full of rage and
frustration—anger, hatred.

She was a maid and yet she had been traumatized by her
encounter with the smugglers. It was a precarious situation, requiring him to
be at his best so he could gently ease her past her fears. He would not risk
frightening her again and perchance putting her off lovemaking forever. He’d
come too far, worked too hard to regain her trust.

Donovan scrubbed his scalp and massaged the back of his head
with his fingers.

He was not making love to her. Not tonight. Not when so much
was at stake.

*******

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, her knees apart, her
gown ruched up, exposing her legs in an inelegant pose. She couldn’t believe
the argument that had just taken place.

What man would refuse the very thing he’d been lusting after
for months on end?

She could hear the splashing on the other side of the
screen. Obviously, he felt the need to relax after his long day on the
plantation.

A drink? He needed a drink. That was new. Something nasty
must have happened while he was out today. Donovan wasn’t the type to drink
much. He told her so himself. She saw him drunk but once—and that turned ugly
rather quickly.

The man had a trying day. Perhaps that was why he’d snapped
at her; he had more important things on his mind at the moment than appeasing
his lust.

That was new. Elizabeth assumed all men were like animals
when it came to their sexual need, showing little more restraint than a dog
determined to hump someone’s leg to appease its instincts. She underestimated
him. Donovan was a scientist. He thought too much. He thought out everything
precisely before acting upon it. He was probably sitting in the tub this moment
dissecting their conversation, trying to see some hidden meaning in her words.

“Oh, Bloody Hell!” Elizabeth whispered. How could she get
him to consummate their vows so she could move past her fear of the unknown?
Yes—in truth, she was afraid of the sordid business. She wasn’t afraid of
Donovan, but the idea of enduring all that pawing and mauling and humping was
unsettling. Donovan didn’t need to know that. Once the consummation part was
over, she could stop being uneasy about it. Stop feeling guilty. The mystery
would be gone and then she could devote herself to making him happy.

What more could she do to push him forward? She tried
talking to the man, and that ended in an argument with both of them sulking at
opposite ends of the room.

Elizabeth looked down at her bare feet and her exposed legs.
Hmmm? Men liked to see a bit of flesh. An exposed ankle, she’d been told, could
send a man into raptures.

Well, then, she’d give him something to look at, a bit more
than ankles.

Chapter
Thirty Three

Elizabeth held her breath, waiting. She was unclothed beneath
the sheets.

Donovan had come around the privacy screen dressed in his
robe. He had a goblet in his hand as he meandered about the room, appearing
deep in reflection. He stopped at the veranda doors and stood with his back to
her, examining the night sky.

She watched him, uncertain if he would climb into bed or go
out on the veranda with the drink he needed so badly and brood over his day.

Well, he would come to bed at some point, no sense trying to
push the situation. She was determined to just lay still and let him come to
her.

It was half an hour before Donovan came to the bed. He
lifted the covers, and she felt the bed dip as he climbed in.

“What is this?” His voice was not happy. As she opened her
eyes she could see Donovan’s disposition was not improved by his long soak or
his drink.

“I was warm.” She explained, receiving a grunt from him as
he slid in next to her wearing his small pants as an imaginary shield over his
masculine parts. It did not conceal them but rather emphasized the contours as
the fabric fit snuggly over him even without arousal.

“Stubborn little mare.” Donovan murmured in rebuke. Still,
he did not reach out to snuff out the candle or turn his back on her. He simply
stared, long and hard, taking in every inch of her flesh as if it were a
strange new specimen he’d never examined before. Oh, he had examined her, from
head to toe, but that was back when she’d been riddled with bruises, hardly
enticing.

Elizabeth watched his face as his eyes lingered over her
breasts, her belly, and then moved lower to the patch of deep red hair between
her thighs. She glanced below the waistline of his small pants. Yes, indeed.
That part of him strained the thin fabric that held it in check.

Say something, anything. Elizabeth thought in sudden
desperation, directing her command to herself and to him. It was awkward, his
staring, this silence, this waiting.

His hand covered her hip, draping over it, tracing the curve
in a slow, leisurely fashion.

“Elizabeth.” He murmured, stroking her hip slowly, and
tracing the outline of her thigh with a firm yet gentle hand. “Sweet Lizzie,
you’re so pale and so lovely.”

She blushed. It was ridiculous to feel reticent when she’d
deliberately stripped and crept naked into his bed, yet, Elizabeth felt the heat
flood her neck and her face.

Donovan reached up to cradle her cheek. “Are you certain
this is what you want?”

Elizabeth pulled her gaze from his taut abdomen. She looked
into those pale, penetrating blue orbs that seemed to see into her soul. “Yes.
I want you to love me as your wife.”

His eyes narrowed. Like a wolf he could sense the frailty of
her trust. “Lizzie, don’t lie. I will wait for as long as you need me to. I
promised you I would, and I intend to keep that promise. Are you certain you
want this, tonight?”