Edith Layton (27 page)

She stood up quickly. “I’ll—I’ll come upstairs, too.”

He showed her through the doorway before him. Her skirt brushed his boots, her perfume teased his nose, but they did not touch or look into each other’s eyes.

S
peak up, fool
! Bridget told herself as she walked up the stair with him,
Talk about anything, and the things you want to say will come tumbling out
. “It’s strange,” she said, “but though I wrote to you every day, and thought of you all the time, I—” She looked at him, her eyes troubled. “I find myself at a loss for words now.”

“Only natural,” he said calmly. “So much has happened, so much more needs to be said.”

She nodded. They went to their room in silence. When they came to their door, Ewen opened it and waited for her to step in before him.

L
ike a damned footman
. O
h, very suave indeed
, E
wen
, he told himself angrily as she swept past him. B
e cool and correct and set the seal on the loss of her confidence, that’s very wise
, he castigated himself. But he couldn’t just take her
in his arms, as he yearned to do—as he’d wanted to do for more days than he could tally, more years than he’d known. She was like a stranger to him now.

His heart clenched when saw her go busy herself at her dressing table, turning the scarred side of her face from him, the way she did when she felt vulnerable.

W
ill she ever forgive me for not telling her
? he wondered, drawing a breath against the surprising pain he felt for her—for himself. D
o
I
deserve to be forgiven
? W
hat must she have endured, what doubts, what fears—and yet against all odds she believed in me
. I
heard her with my own ears
. N
ow she’s avoiding my eyes
. H
ave
I
lost her after all
? N
o
. I
will not, cannot let her go
, he thought fiercely. But
how does a man go about seducing his own wife
? S
trangers were easy game, but this is no game
.

T
hink, man
! he told himself angrily, shucking off his jacket. U
se your head, follow your heart, there’s so much to say
. Y
ou’re supposed to be so damned good with words
. But those had been easy words, spoken for light reasons. This was only his whole life he had to recapture. He tried to think how to do that as he began pulling his shirt over his head.

H
e’s here, he’s back, he’s been true to you, and all you can do is dither like poor Gilly when she was offered a chance at a new life
, Bridget scolded herself. W
hat is the matter with you
? T
here’s so much to say, as he said; so much to tell him, to rejoice in
.

She turned to him, to tell him how much she missed him, how much she needed him, how glad she was that things had turned out so well…and saw him standing there, his shirt in his hand, his eyes on her. Here at last, in her room, in
their
room…in her heart.

Wordlessly she went to him. She stopped in front of him. He looked down at her, saying nothing, scarcely
breathing. She placed her hand on his naked chest and felt his heart’s sure, steady beat, the tensed muscles under that warm skin. She tilted up her head and looked into his eyes. So much to say…

And none of it was said.

He touched her cheek, her hair. Carefully, watching her eyes all the while, he lowered his head and touched her mouth with his. She stepped into his embrace and took his light kiss. She opened her lips and turned it into something hot and deep and delicious, drinking him in as if he were something she needed to nourish her. Indeed, she thought, he was. She put her other hand on his neck and pulled his head down, crowding close to him, pressing herself against him.

He laughed, he groaned, it was the same. He took her in his arms, he shivered with need. His lips on her mouth, her cheek, her neck, he breathed in her ear, “I’m filthy, dusty, reeking of horse and haste. Come, come with me. We’ll bathe together, we’ll—”

She went to their bed with him instead, because it was the nearest place they could lie together, and they needed that above all. Swift, intent, she helped him remove the last of his clothing. He couldn’t wait for her to take off her gown, so he did it for her. They paused to look at each other. He was a man so often driven by lust and so long denied release. Yet he was nevertheless stopped short by the incredible pleasure of the thought that it was
his
Bridget in that delicious, necessary form.

She saw the embodiment of all her desires, and the evidence of his desire for her. She stared, thrilled and proud, because he obviously needed her as much as she wanted him.

Then their hands reached. They touched, they kissed,
there was a flurry of movement and sensation. It was like no seduction he’d ever known, like no daydream of their reunion she could have imagined. They were two halves intent on being whole again.

No word was uttered, no sound except for their breathing, and then the cry she made when he entered her, and the murmurs of pleasure and his harsh breathing, and his cry and hers. Because at last they were together as they’d both longed to be for longer than they could endure.

He held her even as he withdrew from her. Nothing could have made him let her go a moment before, nothing would make him leave her now. He stroked her back as she curled against him, stunned with pleasure and new realization.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a deep voice, breathless from the pleasure he’d had. “It was too fast, I was too eager. Did I hurt you?”

“Oh, no, never, it was grand. Ewen,” she said. “That was—that was—I never felt anything like that, I mean to say. At the end, it was…remarkable.”

“Never felt anything like that?” he asked on a breathy chuckle. “Has my Bridget learned to lie while I was gone? I swear I showed you the way of it before.”

“Oh, that,” she said, and smiled. He felt her lips turn up against his neck. “Well, yes. You did. But that was what you brought me to in our play. I never felt this, at the end, I mean. It was cataclysmic.”

He laughed, as delighted as he was proud. “Such lucky creatures you are. Yes, there can be two. We poor males have to make do with the one. And such a one as you gave me,” he said, and kissed her again, because he too had never felt anything like it.

They stayed in bed a while longer, congratulating each other, caressing, reveling in the fact that they could. Then he rose to his knees and swung her up in his arms. “Now!” he said. “We’re still alone, and with my worthy friends in charge, we will be all afternoon. So now, a proper seduction, in a proper setting, the kind I dreamed about all those lonely nights in London.”

But there was none. Satiated, too pleased and at ease with each other for that now, the idea seemed to amuse rather than titillate them. He carried her to the Roman bath. They splashed, playing like children in the perfumed waters. They dried each other and walked arm in arm to their bedchamber again. There they made love again, just as rapidly, with no less pleasure. They’d dallied in the bath but couldn’t now. It seemed they had no patience for it. Nor could they say all the things they had to say to each other. They spoke to each other with their bodies instead. They needed each other too much to risk words.

No one would have guessed it at dinner that night, or so they thought. They were content, calm, in control. But Rafe and Drum exchanged knowing looks when they saw their host and hostess holding hands, stealing glances, sharing secret smiles.

Betsy was too happy with her lot to notice, and her ever-observant sister was not so observant tonight. She was too involved with the fact that she wore a gown. It was white, with a high waist, the skirt falling to her new slippers, in the current fashion. She was bathed and clean, but that was about the only improvement anyone could see. In fact, all privately thought she’d made a better-looking lad, because she was awkward in women’s clothes, and now it could be seen that she was thin to the point of emaciation.

Her hair, her one grace, had a single flower pinned to the back, as if in apology for the lack of curl or length. The flower only pointed up the fact that her hair looked as though it had been chibbled by rats. But she carried herself with dignity, and no one said a word in praise or censure of her looks. They were too kind for that. and perhaps, as Drum confided to Rafe, no one dared.

No sooner had dessert been served than Rafe yawned theatrically. He ran a hand through his flaming hair. “What a day! Up since dawn, then racketing about all afternoon. Time for bed for me,” he said, yawning some more.

No one mentioned that a hardened soldier might have been used to more exertion than waking early and then taking a trip into a local village with two girls.

“Indeed,” Drum agreed, rising from his chair. “And we have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow.”

“Aye, I’m for my kip,” Gilly declared, “and our Betsy’s half asleep in her pudding.”

They were gone from the room before the footmen could come in to clear the last plates. Ewen grinned at Bridget.

“We have excellent guests,” he told her, offering his hand.

“And an excellent bed,” she agreed, and smiled when she saw his eyebrows rise.

“That, my dear, was mine to say,” he said indignantly, ruining the effect with a warm, loving look.

But she was sitting alone on the window seat in their room as the moon flew high. She’d wrapped her arms around herself and was staring out into the night, watching the shadows cast by the moon, thinking
deeply as the night grew old. She heard a stirring from the bed and heard him rise. She felt him settle down in back of her. He pulled her close against himself, his long arms covering hers, his warm body absorbing the slight chill of the night from hers. He nuzzled her neck and then put his lips to her ear.

“What?” he said, his voice thick with sleep and loving. “I thought you well loved, and to my knowledge, a well-loved woman sleeps well, too.”

“You made love to me very well, and you know it, but…” She couldn’t go on. She felt his chest heave with a sigh.

“I see,” he said, settling her closer to him, gently smoothing back her hair from her ear so he could put his lips there. “You have every reason to be angry with me, of course. Can you believe that I’d buried Elise’s bigamous secret so deep it was as if it never happened? You made me remember. You made me forget. For what it’s worth, I was about to tell you when I was called away.

“I never thought you’d have to deal with her villainy. I was angrier at her today than I was the day I learned how she’d deceived me,” he marveled, “because I saw how she’d hurt you.” He put his cheek against hers. “I wouldn’t have had you hurt for all the world. Can you believe that?”

She nodded.

“Then what?” he asked.

“Ah, well,” she said, thinking, H
ere is my chance, here in the night. I’m too tired to care
; I
can’t wait anymore
. I
t must be said, and
it’s
now or never
. “You said ‘well-loved,’” she blurted, glad she couldn’t see his face, because hers was growing hot. “I was well pleasured…but I don’t
know if I’m well
loved
, you see.” And then waited, scarcely breathing, for his reply.

“Ah,” he said, and paused. She heard nothing but the thrum of her pulse in her ears. “Then after all I’ve said and done,” he finally sighed, “you still doubt it?”

“Yes,” she said in a rush, “because you never said it.”

“Said it?”

“You never said ‘I love you,’ and that’s very important to a woman. But if you don’t, I quite understand. It’s just that you never did, not once, you know.”

He went utterly still. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but she could feel the acceleration of his heartbeat against her back. “Did I not?” he asked. “How odd. Especially with the way you are always declaring it to me.”

“What?” she said in turn.

“No,” he said bemusedly, his voice calm in spite of his inner turmoil. This was the question he’d wondered if he ever could bring himself to speak. “Now I recall,” he said slowly, “you never said it to me, either.”

She blinked. She swung around so fast her hair flew in all directions, some fine strands catching in the short stubble of his newly grown night beard, so it seemed they were linked by spider silk there in the moonlight. “I never said…I never said! Oh, Ewen…”

He cupped her face in two big hands. “No,” he said seriously, trying to read her expression in the faint light, “you never did. Oh, I heard many a ‘Yes, Ewen’ and ‘Ah, Ewen. yes,’ and I’m glad of that. I suspected gratitude, and know pleasure when I hear it. But I never heard more. It may be important to a woman, but a man needs to hear it, too. Even a man who seems impervious to such things. Because he isn’t. No man is. This man, most especially not.”

He waited, very grave, very quiet.

“Oh, Ewen,” she cried, aghast, “but I love you! How could you doubt it? I wouldn’t have wed you else. I wouldn’t have lain with you. I love you entirely, even when I thought you might have—well, not that I ever believed it. But even when I was made to think you had deceived me, I loved you, though I hated myself for it. I love you, oh, I do! How could you think otherwise?”

“Perhaps because you never said it.”

“Well, but neither did you, and I didn’t dare because I thought you’d married me for pity or—”

He put his hand over her mouth. “Never, never,” he said softly. “Your situation gave me opportunity. It didn’t compel me. Only you did that.” His thumb moved, gently tracing the scar. “You bear this scar, my love. It’s where the world can see it, but they can’t see how it has made you so strong and clever, and so very brave. I bear a scar that can’t be seen. I dared to woo a lady, and my touch made her sick to her stomach. It made me vow to show the world that no woman could resist me. Of course, I also made sure no woman could know me—until you. I risked that for you. I’m a very lucky fellow. We both survived our injuries. I wish I could heal yours as you healed mine, if only for your sake. But as for me, I can’t regret it, because it brought you to me.”