Her Mad Baron (31 page)

Or perhaps it was her brother. She decided it couldn’t be Duncan. Nathaniel seemed mostly amused by Duncan. Appalled, of course, but nothing Dunc would do could send him into this strange rage.

No, not rage… She suddenly understood.

When he was angry, he talked, sarcastically perhaps. But not this. That tight mouth and frigid eyes in Nathaniel signified another emotion. Fear.

Something had frightened Nathaniel.

The miles rattled by without a word from either of them.

“You might as well rest.” She poked his shoulder with her forefinger.

“Yes, of course,” he said, politely.

That well-bred, clipped voice did it. She was just about to give in to the urge to scream in his face and pummel him when he gave her a small smile, a real one. “I expect it will be interesting for both of us to return to Willsbourne.” The smile broadened, and there was no mistaking the warmth in the blue-green eyes. “I’m glad you’re going back with me.”

Her heart lurched. He cared about her after all. He might not admit it, but she knew that, whatever bomb had gone off inside him when he’d read the letter, at least he hadn’t decided he’d made a mistake in marrying her.

She pretended to doze against him as they rocked and jolted over miles. Not so far outside a station, he fell asleep, his head resting against the wall by the window. When she heard the soft snores, she slid her hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out the letter, silently apologizing to him. One didn’t want to start out a life together with deception and thievery.

On the other hand, she thought as she turned her back to him to smooth the paper on her knee, the point was to start out together. She wasn’t going to let him shut her out when it was important.

The note had been written by someone who seemed barely literate. It was short and to the point:

Your woman is no lady but a common sneak theif. We have proof. We know how you met. She was in that room with you naked. Ask about the rope and the hairpins plus we know she’s done it before. We have evidince. The police will learn all unless you stop any prosacution of Mr. Maller. We will tell every one. The papers. We wait your replie via letter to Mr. Smith care of the Boar’s Head.

She sighed, recrumpled the sheet, and carefully pushed it back into his pocket.

Nathaniel, that idiot, was going to let the scoundrels get away with it. What had he said to Burney? “I agree to his terms.” Nathaniel obviously intended to let Maller go free just to keep him quiet about Florrie.

She reddened as she realized that now Mr. Burnbridge knew hints of the truth. No wonder he gave her those curious sidelong looks. Ah well, she’d face worse soon enough, because there was no way on God’s green earth she would allow Maller to prevail.

She snuggled against the now relaxed form of Nathaniel, pushing under his arm so it lay around her. He gave a sleepy hum and pulled her close. She’d already

discovered that he sought her out in his sleep. In bed he held her and wrapped himself around her. A pity he didn’t always strive for such closeness when they were awake.

They arrived past nine on an empty platform, which was soon piled with their bags. She remembered the station well from her disastrous visit with Duncan. Only, no, she supposed it could not be called a disaster—she ended up with Nathaniel because of that journey.

When it became clear she was only in the way when she tried to help unload or organize their baggage, she wandered off to look at the station master’s garden at the side of the station. Even in the dark she could see the pale shapes of marigolds. As she stood breathing in the scent of night-blooming stock, she noticed Burney nearby, scanning the road anxiously.

Florrie hurried over to him, calling his name. “Please listen,” she said, out of breath and trying to speak softly. “That note you delivered to our compartment. Don’t send the message that Lord Felston accepts their terms.”

His eyes widened. “Um, his lordship was emphatic in his instructions.”

“Just wait. I think he’s making a mistake.”

Burny nodded. What did that mean? Then he pulled a watch from his waistcoat and tried to read it by the light of a three-quarter moon and a distant gas-lamp. “Pardon
me, my lady,” he said. “I must discover why the carriage and rig aren’t here. They should have met us here.”

“Mr. Burnbridge.”

He turned.

“At least wait until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Of course, my lady.”

From the yard came the sound of hooves and wheels and a shout or two. Burney scuttled off to greet the carriages, and Florrie went back to find Nathaniel, who stood, his hands behind his back, gazing over the scene as if he had nothing to do with any of it.

“Are you wishing we’d gone to Kember instead?” she asked.

He roused himself. “Of course not.” He offered his arm, and they walked to the waiting carriage that would carry them to the grim building that had held them both prisoner.

The newly hired housekeeper led them through the big drafty building. Nathaniel had his hands behind his back, not looking into any of the rooms.

“I’ve been here before,” h
e said. “Several times before that last visit, I should say.”

“Perhaps you’d rather wait until morning, my lord, or I could show Lady Felston alone?” asked the housekeeper.

“No. Let’s get it over with.”

He walked with set shoulders and his hands clasped tight behind his back. Florrie didn’t think he’d appreciate her sympathetic touch, so she pretended to stumble on a step. When he automatically offered his arm, she clung to him as if she was an invalid.

The upper stories had plumbing but hadn’t been fitted with gas fixtures so they carried oil lamps.

The housekeeper hesitated outside one particular room. Of course she knew the story. Everyone on the staff must.

“It’s empty now,” she said, and pushed open the door.

A layer of dust covered the floor. The bars on the window were gone. The only sign that there’d ever been furniture were fresh scrapes on the wooden floor and a shadow where the clothes press had lain.

In the eerie lamp glow, Florrie stared into the former prison, willing her body to return to that night, feel the fear. Nothing. But through Nathaniel’s arm, she felt his slight tremble. She could easily recall the fierce desire of that night.

Nathaniel gave a single nod. “That door is to remain ajar,” he told the housekeeper politely. “Thank you for your gracious welcome.” The housekeeper beamed at him.

They trooped downstairs again. Bearing stiff as a soldier, he turned to Burney and Miss Brock and bid them goodnight in his most well-bred tones and asked the housekeeper to show them to their rooms. Florrie wondered if she was the only one who understood that voice and posture meant he fought strong emotion.

Ah well, she was the only one married to him.

“Come.” She touched his cheek with her fingers. “We’ll go to bed and see if marriage has changed us.”

That did the trick. His mouth was no longer a grim line. He looked into her face with real heat and promise of more. “I should hope not,” he said.

“Shall we retire?” she asked.

He gravely took her hand and laid it on his arm as if he escorted her into dinner. She could not read him now, and couldn’t tell if he did this to be amusing or if this was some sort of standard behavior. She suspected he would automatically fall back on his training as a gentleman any time he was distracted.

They had been given separate sleeping chambers, but he led her to his, a large bedroom that smelled of dust and the ghosts of centuries of fires laid in a fireplace with a drafty chimney.

She scrambled out of her clothes, nervous, eager—and chilly. He took longer, so she pulled the curtains shut around the bed and waited. Pay attention to the details, she told herself. This was her wedding night, and she wanted to remember everything—her pounding heart, the utter darkness inside the tent of the bed, the lavender scent of sheets pulled from long storage.

At least someone had warmed the bed so the damp had been driven from between the sheets.

The curtain rings rattled and a chink of light flashed and disappeared as Nathaniel joined her. She swam across the wide bed until she came up against him, large, hot and naked. Oh, my. This was her favorite detail.

“Florrie,” he whispered against her neck. She heard a note of desperation in his voice, and she remembered that first night when they clung together.

In the dark, his fingers slid over her, over her neck, up to her head where he cupped her face and pressed his mouth to hers. No sweet nibbles or seduction, this was a demanding kiss
. Now, I need you now.
He didn’t say the words, but she felt the urgency in his touch and heard it in the quiet moan as he buried his face against her neck.

His cock was iron hard against her thigh, and he hissed and flinched as she touched it. She rolled onto her back and opened her arms and legs.

He moved above her, then his weight was on her, clutching her tight in his arms. Too tight. She bucked and wiggled, and he loosened his grasp and took some of his weight onto his arms and legs, but still he covered her, skin to skin, no air between them. He breathed hard, panting, jerking as he moved against her.

This wasn’t the accomplished lover who usually held her and played confidently with her body. Nathaniel’s desperate craving was contagious—his desire kindled hers.

She reached between them to grasp his cock and put it at her entrance.

“You’re not—you’re not ready for…” he began, and she canted her hips and pushed up. His words ended with a groan, and he sank deeper into her. Too hard and too deep, but she met him anyway, willing her body to adjust.

He reached under her to clasp her rear as he moved in her. He breathed out a word with each inhalation, and when he tilted her head closer, she heard her name.

Good. She wanted to crow with the lovely sensation that now grew and thickened in her, and with the certainty that this was important—more than just the pleasure of bodies joining. Although, yes, that pleasure bloomed and then interrupted any gloating thoughts. Her own increasing desire ruled her now.

She twisted, and he was pushing that part of her inside that tantalized her with the delicious ache.

Florrie ran her hands over his hard, straining back. She pushed her heels onto the bed. That wasn’t enough. She raised her legs, demanding more. Now he should go as far into her body as she could stand it. She writhed as he moved, demanding more and getting it.

He slid his fingers along her thighs then held her legs at the crook of her knees and intensified each stroke as he moved in her.

She could tell by his breath and the way he thickened and sped up his thrusts he was close, and the realization pushed her there too.

The sound of his harsh cry and the very deepest of his pushes proved too much. He cried out and swelled in her, far inside her body, setting off her own release, as shocking and wonderful as if she’d never felt it before.
Every time,
she thought as he shuddered and still moved in her, slowly, back and forth, twitching as her body clenched and clasped him.
Each time it’s almost too much
.

He rolled to the side, pulling her with him. She wanted to consider the implications of his spending inside her, but now was too warm, too cozy and too happy. Perhaps that was the answer. Happiness.

She yawned against his chest, wishing she could stay awake, because she knew from the tension in his body that he gazed out into the darkness, and she wanted to know what thoughts gripped him. He wouldn’t tell her of course.

“G’night,” she murmured.

“Sleep, sleep,” he crooned, almost singing the words. Did he ever sing? Hard to imagine the proper Nathaniel roaring out tunes, but he would before she was done with him. She drifted off, planning his corruption.

* * * *

Florrie woke alone and dressed quickly. She found him shaved, dressed, and eating breakfast. When he saw her, he dropped his toast and quickly pushed back his chair to stand.

“You needn’t jump up when I enter the room,” she said.

He smiled. “Feel free to correct my defects, but I shan’t abandon basic courtesy, ma’am.”

She went to the sideboard where silver trays held food. “Just eggs and kippers,” she told the attending footman. Another waited to pull out a chair for her at the massive table.

Once she’d settled at her place, Nathaniel nodded at the two footmen, and they left the room.

“Thank you,” she said. “I know I’ll have to grow used to having people looming over me when I eat.”

“I shan’t attempt to change your behavior. Certainly not how you prefer to eat in your own home.” Nathaniel drank the rest of his coffee and reached for the heavy silver pot. He didn’t appear used to pouring his own.

She remembered how she’d fallen asleep making lists of what she would change about him.

Florrie thought of
A Lady’s Guide to a Happy Marriage
that Mrs. Parsons, her old landlady, had given her as a wedding gift. The book contained the usual nonsense, but she couldn’t help recalling one piece of advice: “one doesn’t enter marriage determined to change one’s husband unless the alterations are absolutely necessary for his happiness.”