His Lady Mistress (35 page)

Understanding pierced him. She blamed herself for her father’s death. Believed she had destroyed him. And that, if she remained,
he
would drink himself to death because of his vow. He stared at Verity’s slender hands, lost in his grasp. She had blamed her very existence all these years.

Somehow he must free her from the nightmare. ‘Verity—it wasn’t your fault. He was sick. He didn’t know what he was saying.’

She met his gaze and whispered, ‘I know. I understand that now. That’s why…there’s more, you see. The night he died—it was my birthday. My fifteenth birthday. He hadn’t spoken to me all day. I’d tried so hard and he wouldn’t even look at me. I…I was…’

‘Hurt?’ suggested Max quietly. ‘Angry?’

She nodded, shivering. ‘Yes. So angry I threw away all the laudanum. Every last drop.’

He shut his eyes briefly, remembering Richard’s com
ments.
He’d go nearly crazy with pain if he didn’t get his dose. Frightening.

Could it drive a man to suicide?

Probably. If he didn’t get his dose. If he was heavily habituated.

‘Go on.’ He knew now what was coming, but she needed to say it.

‘He…he went quite mad. After a few hours he was frantic, screaming in agony. Begging me to find some.’ She swallowed. ‘But it was late. And I was so frightened, I locked myself in my room. I heard him crashing about downstairs, cursing me, hating me, screaming that he’d kill himself.’ A sob tore from her throat. ‘I didn’t believe him…until—’ Her hands clutched his as her voice failed.

‘Until you heard the shot,’ he finished savagely.

She turned her face away. ‘Yes. So you see, it was my fault, my stupidity…’

‘No! Who the hell told you that?’ Suddenly furious, he remembered all the guilt he had felt over Richard’s accident. Guilt his mother had rubbed in constantly every time she sighed over Richard’s limp. Moaned over the stillbirth of Richard’s expected military career at every opportunity. The ongoing need to expiate his stupid, youthful mistake.

And Verity had spent the last five years hating herself because of some fool. Who? Lady Faringdon?

‘Who? Who told you that it was your fault?’

She stared. ‘No one told me. I never told anyone what really happened.’

She had buried it within her heart for five years, bleeding, eating at her from the inside out. He didn’t stop to think before he had his arms around Verity and had dragged her off the chair into his embrace. Ignoring her struggles, he held her tightly. He had to make her see, make her understand.

‘Listen to me, Verity. It wasn’t your fault. I read his journal after the Torringtons’ ball. It wasn’t you. The opium destroyed him. You were a child! How could you cope with
something like that? You should have been
his
responsibility. Not the other way around.
It wasn’t your fault!
’

He tucked her head into the curve of his shoulder and went on, tenderly stroking her hair. ‘As for my stupidity last night—that was my fault.
My
responsibility. And it’s over. You’re mine. And I want you. Now.’

Every fibre in his body raged with longing for her. With the need to press her down beneath him and give what he had denied them both for so long. To feel her mouth under his, her body yielding and soft as he slid into her and claimed her. With a groan he lowered his mouth to hers in fierce possession.

Struggling she broke free and flung herself away from him, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

She didn’t want him.
The knowledge pounded into him with every beat of his heart. He had thought he knew what pain was. He’d been wrong. This was pain, this dreadful racking knowledge that he had finally driven her away completely. Last night had been too much. She had trusted him once too often.

‘I won’t be your whore again.’

The low words slammed into him.

She went on. ‘You told me—you didn’t want a wife. And even if you did want one—you wouldn’t want a woman who would, who
did
, consent to be your mistress.’

Understanding twisted inside him. She believed that he thought of her as a…he couldn’t even think the word now. That he had ever, in his hurt fury, used it, horrified him. He confronted what he had done to her—he had convinced her that he thought her a whore. Worse—he had made
her
believe it, all the more easily because of what she believed about herself.

She had come to him an innocent, trusting him in a way he could barely comprehend. In return he had stripped her of her innocence in every way possible. Words weren’t going
to be enough. Even if he could find them. If they weren’t choked useless in his throat. She was his. His wife.

He reached for her again, pulled her into his arms.

‘No,’ she panted. ‘I told you—’

He brought his mouth down on hers.

Verity gasped, stunned. His mouth on hers was devastating, his demands absolute. Her fainting reason shrieked a protest, even as her body melted against his, her mouth opening in helpless surrender. Instantly his lips gentled as he claimed all the sweetness she offered, taking her mouth in a surge of penetration.

She clung to him, giving back kiss for kiss with wild abandon, absorbing his taste, the hot textures of his mouth. In the morning she would hate herself, but right here, right now, all she could do was love him. In any way he would let her.

A sob of protest escaped her as he broke the kiss, lifting his head slightly.

‘Not here.’ The possessive growl shivered through her.

She stared. Her unspoken question hung between them.

He stood in one swift powerful move, taking her with him. An instant later he had swept her up into his arms and was heading for the door to
his
bedchamber.

Her throat closed. ‘My…Max…what are you doing?’

His eyes blazed at her. ‘Taking my
wife
to my bed. As is fitting.’

‘But…’

‘But nothing. You’re mine. My wife. And it’s about time we both remembered it.’

Hope seared her as he stalked through the door. His face was harsh, set in grim lines, yet his arms cradled her tenderly against his chest. Her breath broke on a gasp as he lowered her to the silken counterpane with a brief, hard kiss and stepped back.

‘First things first,’ he said huskily as he turned away. She lay watching him as he took a taper off a tallboy and lit the
fire. He straightened, smiled at her and blew out the taper. And every other candle in the room.

His face was shadowed as he came back to her and sat down on the edge of the bed to remove his boots. His coat sailed into a corner, the waistcoat followed an instant later. Firelight slid over hard, muscled curves as he stood up and stripped out of his shirt and breeches and her mouth dried. She had never seen him fully.

The first time he’d already been in bed when she came to him, the bedclothes pulled to his waist. All the other nights, in her bed here, he’d come to her in the dark. As if he hadn’t wanted to know who she was.

Shock and desire mingled as she gazed at the hard, powerful body, the broad chest with its light covering of curls. Taut flat stomach and…She breathed raggedly…he had been so deep inside her…it seemed impossible…A melting rush of heat took her breath away. She forced her gaze back to his face, met the scorching desire in his eyes.

She wanted him, but what was she supposed to do? What did he want? Eyes wide, she reached out to him. Then, uncertainly, she dropped her hand.

He came to her then. He captured her hand, and brought it to his lips, biting tenderly at her fingertips, and then drew it lower, over his chest, his stomach, as he feathered light kisses over her face. Lower he took her hand until she felt the fierce heat of desire. Gently he curled her fingers around his flesh and groaned.

Verity gasped. So hard, so silken. And so hot. She stroked, fascinated, feeling the leap of passion under her fingers.

All at once he pushed her hand away with a groan. She jerked back at once, thinking she had displeased him, that her curiosity shocked him.

Max felt her withdrawal and knew at once what he’d done. He caught her and drew her back, shuddering at the caress of soft breasts through the light lawn. ‘Your touch is beau
tiful. Too beautiful. But I want all of you.’ The uncertainty in her eyes, the unconcealed longing, burnt at his control.

‘All of me?’ Her shaken whisper scored him.

‘All of you,’ he confirmed, easing back from her to unbutton the nightgown. He stripped it from her with swift, urgent hands and flung it away. He couldn’t wait. She was his and he had denied it too long.

‘You are mine. You are carrying my child. And there is nothing to hold us apart any longer.’ Then, needing to show her, he slowly bent down to kiss her belly. Tenderly, reverently, as he caressed the gentle curve with shaking fingers.

His wife. Quickening with his seed. His. In every way possible.

Shuddering with the force of his need, he rose over her, pressing one knee between her silken thighs, opening her fully. This time there was no resistance. Eagerly she obeyed his unspoken command, yielding to him, clinging. His thigh rested over hers, pinning it to the mattress. Every muscle locked with restraint, his fingers sought her softness, caressing, stroking tenderly. Soft, wet heat bloomed under his touch in the sweetest surrender.

Taking her mouth gently, he settled in the cradle of her body. She tensed. Despite the pounding ache he forced himself to stop. He released her mouth, kissed a hot trail down her throat and drew one hardened nipple deeply into his mouth. With a wild cry she arched into him. He suckled lightly, biting and laving the tender flesh until broken cries rippled from her and she twisted urgently against him, her uncertainty consumed in a blaze of yearning.

Releasing her breast, he kissed his way back to her mouth, distracting her with featherlight kisses as he fitted himself to her.

Her mouth clung to his as her hips tilted to accept him. He groaned and clamped one hand to her hip, holding her still. ‘No,’ he whispered against her trembling mouth. ‘Not yet.’

‘Yes. Now!’ She twisted beneath him, the slick heat of her body caressing him, pleading for him.

He forced his body to restraint and pressed into her entrance. Just. He moved carefully, teasing her, feeling her breath break against his mouth, feeling her body arch frantically against his, the soft breasts pressing hotly.

‘This is how I should have taken you the first time,’ he whispered, sliding a little deeper, savouring the gasp of pleasure. ‘If I’d known what you were giving me.’ His tongue traced her lips, tasting her, loving her as trembling fingers grazed his jaw, buried themselves in his hair as her mouth opened against his. He smiled and evaded her, the sweet cry of frustration burning to his soul. ‘I should have taken you slowly, very slowly, feeling every inch of your softness.’ He rocked against her, lips and tongue tracing the curves of her ear, groaning as she arched beneath him, pleading mutely for his complete possession.

‘More?’ he murmured against her throat.

She lifted against him wildly, caressing him with the silken fire of her body. ‘Yes! Oh, yes! Max…please—’

‘How much more? This much?’ He pressed deeper, still gripping her hip to hold her. Her frantic cries and the petal-soft touch of her body shredded his control. He fought the urge to sheathe himself completely.

His body on the verge of rebellion, he withdrew to her entrance. Releasing her hip, he reached between their bodies to stroke her tenderly, finding and caressing the taut, sweet bud of desire. Her body responded.

‘Open your eyes,’ he whispered. ‘Come. Look at me.’

Slowly her eyelids lifted, revealing pupils dilated with urgency, leaving only a smoking rim. Her lips were parted, soft and moist, swollen from the fierce possession of his mouth.

Gently he stroked one rounded thigh, urged it back against her waist, then the other, tilting her, opening her completely. He felt her breath jerk in, saw her eyes widen even further as she realised her vulnerability. Burning on a knife edge of
desire, he forced himself to wait, needing to be sure of her trust.

‘Please, Max…love me…now.’

The aching whisper undid him. He lowered his mouth to hers again, deepening their kiss as he sank himself slowly, inexorably, into her welcoming heat until they were completely joined. Lifting his head, he gazed down at her, yielded beneath him. So sweet, so hot. And his. All his. Shaken to the depths of his soul, he whispered, ‘I do love you, Verity. Now and always.’

Her mouth trembled. ‘Max? No, you can’t. I didn’t mean…’

He kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘Yes, my darling. You did. And so do I.’ He rocked against her gently.

She cried out, shifting beneath him, caressing his aching, buried flesh, and his control splintered. With a groan he began to move, deeply, powerfully, claiming her for all time.

Verity gasped, her body burning as he took her repeatedly, all restraint gone. The tension coiled fiercely inside her, tearing free from her throat in desperate pleas. His mouth took her cries mercilessly as he possessed her, merging their bodies so completely that she no longer knew where she ended and he began.

Her world shattered, breaking apart as ecstasy poured through her in a cataract of fire, consuming her utterly as his body drove into hers again and again until his own release shuddered through him and he spent himself deep inside her.

Chapter Seventeen

M
ax awoke to find the day far advanced. He stared at the clock on the chimneypiece in disbelief. Past midday? How in Hades had he slept that long? And where was Verity? He looked with a grin at the tumbled bedding. Now he thought about it, he hadn’t really slept that long.

He yawned and stretched. No doubt she had gone to get dressed. A note on the pillow caught his eye. Hmm. Better than nothing, but he would have preferred to find Verity there, all warm and soft and sleepy. Ready for his kisses. As she had been throughout the night. His heart pounded just thinking about it.

He unfolded the note, wondering what she was up to.