Kathryn Smith (17 page)

He planted a hasty trail of kisses along her jaw and neck in his journey to her breasts. Dropping to his knees before her, he pulled her down so that her gown rode her hips as she straddled his thighs, her breasts level with his mouth. He lowered his head, his hands impatiently pushing at her skirts to find their way to the delicate flesh underneath.

His hands found the ties of her garters as his mouth closed around the hard sweetness of her nipple. He felt her dig her shoulders into the books behind her, arching her back. The thigh beneath his hand flexed as she dug her heels into the carpet, tilting her hips in an instinctual rhythm. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling with every suckle. The harder he sucked, the more fierce her tugs and whimpers became until he could not tell if either of them knew a division between pleasure and pain.

The juncture between her legs radiated heat. Beneath her skirts, his fingers crept past a frilly garter to the dampness spreading onto the soft flesh of her inner thigh. His cock leapt at the contact, aching to sink itself into the searing moisture his fingers now parted and stroked.

She was keening now, her sharp cries music to his ears as she pushed against his hand. Under his thumb, a tiny mound of flesh grew taut and slick as he slowly drew it back and forth.

Rachel moaned.

Her breast slid from his mouth as he pulled back. He continued to stroke her, staring up at her flushed face while his other hand pushed her gown up around her thighs. He wanted to taste her on his tongue. Wanted to devour her as if she were a succulent morsel and he a starving animal.

But more than that, he wanted to feel her muscles tense around him, wanted to feel that hot wetness take him to oblivion.

Continuing to stroke her with one hand, he fumbled with the falls of his breeches with the other. His hard flesh sprang forward and he arched his hips, pressing the blunt head against the moist lips of her sex. One thrust and he would be inside her. He probed her gently.

Rachel tensed. “Brave, no!”

The blood froze in his veins as her words washed over him.
No?
That close and she told him no? The urge to shove himself inside her regardless was overpowering, but Brave had never defiled a woman in his life and wasn’t about to start now—even if he was legally entitled to take her whenever and however he wanted.

Brave drew back, fastening his trousers around rock-hard flesh that did not want to be put away unsatisfied. He was angry. Angry at himself, angry at his cock, and so very, very angry at her. What the hell was wrong with him? He’d never wanted sex so badly that he was tempted to take it by force.

It wasn’t sex. It was her. He wanted Rachel so badly he’d almost taken her on the floor like a common whore. The knowledge was terrifying.

“We can’t do this,” she was saying, tugging at the neck of her gown. “Not here. Not like this.” She nodded toward the room entrance and Brave tore his gaze away from her lovely gown, which he had ruined, to the door, which was partially open.

Mortification hit him like a punch in the groin. She was a virgin, innocent, and he’d been about to take that innocence on the floor of a room where anyone could have walked in and found them!

He’d promised to protect her, to help her—not to help himself to her. Rachel deserved better than that.

“Brave?”

He jerked his head around to meet her stare. She looked so little and timid sitting there on the floor in her torn dress, her
lips puffy and her face red with whisker burn. He was going to have to learn to close the door when he was alone with her.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.

I’ll save you if you promise to save me
. What was he thinking? Even if he felt it, he would never admit it. He swore never to make himself vulnerable to a woman again. He could pursue, he could even fall in love, but until he was sure of her feelings, he would not lay his out to be trampled upon.

“I forgot myself,” he replied, his voice harsh in his own ears. “It’s very fortunate for both of us that you managed to regain your senses in time.” Did she blanch at that? Shouldn’t that make him happy?

“We must be very careful to ensure this kind of…abandonment doesn’t happen again.” The words were like dirt in his mouth.

“No,” she whispered, averting her gaze. “We wouldn’t want that.”

Brave smiled. It felt more like a snarl. “Good. Perhaps it would be best then if you retired for the evening. I will ask cook to send a tray up to your room if you like.”

Rachel nodded and rose to her feet. Brave’s heart twisted at the humiliation on her face, but he couldn’t go to her, couldn’t offer her any comfort. There had to be some distance between them if they were going to survive this marriage unscathed.

“Good night, Brave.”

His throat constricted as she opened the library door. “Good night.”

She walked out the door, and Brave’s heart went with her.

R
achel rose with the sun the following morning. It seemed the most sensible thing to do considering she hadn’t slept all night and wouldn’t be likely to now that it was light.

She’d spent the entire night reliving that awful, awful scene with Brave in the library. A scene made all the more awful by the sheer fact that it hadn’t been awful at all. It had been wondrous, intoxicating…intense.

So why had she stopped him? Her body certainly hadn’t wanted to stop. Her body had wanted to take him inside and experience all that he had to offer. But then she’d remembered where they were and the circumstances surrounding their marriage, and she’d frozen. It wasn’t so much the fact that a servant could have walked in on them, it was the fact that the only emotion Brave felt for her was lust and that she had been about to give him her virginity on the floor. She didn’t want it to happen that way.

And she’d been scared. Scared of the need that bubbled
inside her. Because until that awareness hit her, it hadn’t mattered that they were on the floor or that she was a virgin or that Brave was more feverish than gentle. She’d wanted him—any way he was willing to give himself to her, and that frightened her almost as much as leaving her mother under Sir Henry’s roof.

It had been a long time since she’d needed anyone. She was the one who was always in control.

Brave had proven to her that she was not in control where he was concerned. He made her feel things she’d never felt before—hot and wanton. Society taught that these were not ladylike feelings. Sabine had told her otherwise. And while Rachel was a little embarrassed by such urges, were they not very similar to a man’s? Surely it was only natural for a woman to want a man as he wanted her? Although perhaps not on an Aubusson carpet.

So why did she still feel that stopping had been a mistake? As long as she lived, she would never forget the expression on Brave’s face. Disappointment, anger, even a little disgust. Whether that disgust had been directed at her or at himself, Rachel wasn’t certain, but she knew that while her actions might not have pleased him, the rest of her had certainly seemed to.

For all the good it did either of them.

Swinging her feet over the side of the enormous four-poster bed, she sighed and stepped down onto the plush carpet. She’d been installed in the countess’s bedchamber, and found she could become very accustomed to the pale green and gold elegance of the room were it not for the fact that it was separated from Brave’s by nothing more than a small sitting room.

Was he still abed? Had he slept as ill as she? Was he naked…?

“Oh!” Shaking her head in frustration, Rachel stomped over to the wardrobe and pulled out one of her old gowns. It
wasn’t as fine as the new ones she’d ordered from Mrs. Ford, but it was in good repair and closed in the front, making it easier to get into by herself.

She washed, dressed and pinned her hair up into a sleek and simple knot high on the back of her head.

Her mother was always up this early, even though it was Sir Henry’s habit to sleep ’til afternoon, so Rachel bundled up in a heavy cloak and her warmest gloves and set off on foot for Tullywood.

The sun was already heating the earth, drawing a fine mist low to the ground, and Rachel hurried down the lane, eager to climb the next hill and see all the village laid out as though arising from a cloud.

The mist had lost its appeal by the time Rachel reached Tullywood. After stubbing her toes on too many unseen rocks, Rachel began to curse the knee-high fog that kept her from seeing her path as clearly as she should.

Smoke rose from several of Tullywood’s chimneys, and the scent of coal and wood clung to the frosty air like a warm embrace. From the outside the manor house gave every appearance of being an inviting country home, but Rachel, of course, knew better.

Potts answered her knock. His blue eyes sparkled with pleasure as he took her outer garments from her. Rachel couldn’t remember ever seeing him so happy. It warmed her to think her presence might be the cause of it. He insisted upon bowing and calling her “Lady Braven.” Even though it was her title now, Rachel felt like a fraud for using it.

She limped into the dining room and was relieved to find her mother indeed alone.

“Rachel, dearest,” her mother greeted her. “Whatever are you doing here?”

“Breakfast?” Rachel suggested weakly.

Marion smiled as if she knew exactly what was wrong and why she was there. “Of course. Sit down.”

Moments later, sans her outer garments, Rachel was seated at the table, picking at a plate full of ham, coddled eggs, and steaming bread, dripping in butter.

“Don’t tell me you and Braven have fought already.” Her mother peered at her over a cup of tea.

Rachel chewed and swallowed, even though food was the last thing she wanted. “We haven’t fought, no.” Unless one counted the cold tone in Brave’s voice when he dismissed her last night as fighting.

Her mother raised a brow. Rachel twitched under her stare. “Did you make love?”

“Not exactly,” Rachel replied, her face flaming.

“Not exactly? My darling, it’s one of those things that is either done or it isn’t.”

Was her mother laughing at her? Rachel searched her face for amusement, but found nothing but motherly concern.

“We—” Lord, but she couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with her mother. Her mother! “We almost did.”

Marion calmly buttered a slice of bread as though talking about marital relations was nothing out of the ordinary. “So what happened?” She didn’t look up.

“He stopped.” Her cheeks blushed even hotter. “
I
stopped.”

Her mother popped a piece of the bread into her mouth. “Why?” she asked around it.

“I’m not sure.” Almost as an afterthought, she looked over her shoulder to make certain Sir Henry wasn’t standing there listening. “I was frightened.”

“It is a little intimidating the first time.” Then, as though a nasty thought occurred to her, Marion looked up. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Not physically, no, but the look on his face…“No. It was nothing like that. It just didn’t feel right.” Her cheeks flamed as she revealed to her mother what she hadn’t even truly revealed to herself. “It would have felt like a business transaction—like we were fulfilling a contract.”

Marion’s gaze snapped to hers. There was nothing but affection in her pale gaze. “You would have been. It’s called consummation for a reason.”

Rachel now knew where she got her penchant for flippant remarks. “I don’t want—” She lowered her voice. “I don’t want the first time I make love with my husband to be like signing a contract. It makes me feel like his property.”

She expected her mother to remind her that she was indeed now Brave’s property. He owned her, just as Sir Henry owned her mother. Before she could panic, Rachel reminded herself that Brave was nothing like her stepfather.

Marion shrugged and tore off another chunk of bread. “Braven isn’t a boy; he knows the consequences of bedding you, just as you do. A man might be ruled by his…loins, but you may rest assured that those loins aren’t about to do anything that will put them someplace they don’t want to be.”

“I beg your pardon?” What the devil was her mother talking about? Ruling loins?

Marion sighed. “I’m saying that Braven knows that a physical relationship between you would truly make you man and wife. Perhaps that is what he intended—to put you at ease, not seal the arrangement or however you want to put it.”

Now Rachel knew her mother was insane. When she said “man and wife” she meant it in the same sense that she and Rachel’s father had been joined—the way God intended, not like some financial arrangement as the
ton
preferred.

“Mama, that is just nonsense. Of course Braven doesn’t want us to truly be husband and wife. He can’t.”

Her mother slathered a spoon full of jam on her bread. “Why can’t he?”

Because he just wants me for heirs.

“Because he doesn’t even know me.” Rachel didn’t know him either, but that didn’t stop her from fantasizing what it would be like to spend the rest of her life with him. Or stop
her from wanting to turn those sad little smiles of his into the real thing.

“You don’t have to know all there is to know about a person to love them,” her mother replied. “I was married to your father for three years before I found out what his favorite color was. Five before I discovered he was afraid of cows.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “Those things aren’t important, Mama.”

Marion grinned—something Rachel hadn’t seen in a long time. “They are if you’re standing in the middle of a field with your husband up a tree because some farmer’s cow got loose and decided to come graze beside you.”

Rachel didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she plopped her head into her hands and sighed.

A gentle hand curved around her wrist and she looked up. Her mother smiled. “What I’m trying to say is that neither you nor Braven can control how you feel about each other. When the time is right for you to give yourself to him, you will. And if you’re going to fall in love, then you’ll fall in love, and neither of you will be able to stop it. It’s frightening, yes, but it’s worth it.”

A shiver ran down Rachel’s spine. Was her mother still talking about her and Brave, or was she talking about something else?

“Are you…” She swallowed against the revulsion rising from deep within her. Clenching her jaw, she fought to keep her voice even. “Are you falling in love with Sir Henry?” Just the very idea made her want to vomit.

Marion blushed. Rachel’s stomach lurched. “He’s been very sweet lately,” her mother replied softly.

Now it was Rachel’s turn to grab her. She was dangerously close to hysterics. This could
not
be happening.

“Do not tell me you’ve changed your mind about the divorce.”

Marion looked at her, her expression open. “I’m not saying any such thing. But even if I had, would it be so bad?”

“Yes!” Then lowering her voice, “You cannot stay here.”

Her mother’s gaze was sympathetic. “Rachel, what I decide is for me alone to decide.” She must have seen the horror in Rachel’s eyes because she continued, “I have not changed my mind about leaving. Not yet. But there’s nothing saying you have to take care of the arrangements or me when I do go. I can take care of myself.”

Rachel almost laughed out loud.

“Besides, Sir Henry has promised me that he is a changed man. The least I can do is give him the benefit of the doubt.”

The laughter died in Rachel’s throat. “You don’t believe him!”

Her mother’s brow puckered. “I don’t know what to believe, but he asked me to give him a chance to prove himself, and I told him I would. Wouldn’t you rather see me happy in my marriage than spend the rest of my life watching over my shoulder?”

“Of course I would—just not with Sir Henry!” Her appetite completely gone, Rachel shoved the plate away. “I can’t believe you actually intend to stay with him after all he’s done to you!”

“I am not an idiot,” her mother retorted peevishly. “Do not speak to me as if I were. I didn’t say I was going to stay with Sir Henry. I said I was going to give him a chance to prove himself.”

Oh, Rachel had no doubt that her stepfather would prove himself. He could be very charming when he wanted to be. No doubt he’d say all the appropriate things and do all the appropriate things and then one day her mother would style her hair in a manner Sir Henry didn’t like and he’d beat her black-and-blue.

Grinding the heel of her hand into her forehead, Rachel fought to keep the top of her head from exploding. She had
to remain calm if she was going to maintain control of the situation. One way or another, her mother was going to leave Tullywood, even if Rachel had to drag her out by the heels screaming. Better that than in a box.

“How long did you give him?”

Her mother shifted in her chair. “We didn’t fix upon a specific amount of time.”

Rachel nodded. There was nothing she could do short of forcing her mother to leave, and although she was close enough to panic to seriously consider it, Rachel knew Sir Henry would come to collect her and that her mother would willingly go back. She was too damn trusting, even after all he had done to her. She wanted to believe he was a good man underneath it all.

It hurt to think that her mother might actually believe that Rachel was to blame for his cruelty. His sudden change of demeanor certainly brought credence to his claim. Surely her mother wasn’t foolish enough to believe that. Was she? She couldn’t stop it from niggling in the back of her mind.

“You’re angry.” It was a statement rather than a question.

Shaking her head, Rachel looked her mother straight in the eye and lied. “No, I’m not. I’m just confused.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. It will all work out in the end. It always does.”

Rachel was very tempted to remind her mother just how often it
never
worked out for either one of them, but thought against it. She just wanted to leave. She needed to be alone so she could think. If her mother refused to leave Sir Henry, there would be no divorce and that would mean Rachel had married Brave for nothing and that would lead to a whole new batch of consequences that she didn’t even want to think about.

“I have to go now,” she told her mother as she rose to her feet. “Brave will no doubt be wondering where I am.” In truth, she doubted her husband would even care where she was. He would probably be glad to find her gone.

“Will you be all right?”

Rachel nodded. She was so tired. “I’ll be fine. I think I’ll go home and take a nap.” With any luck she’d sleep for the next year and wake up to find Sir Henry dead and her mother run off with a stableboy.

She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”

Marion smiled. It was so hard to stay frustrated at her mother when she looked at her with so much love in her eyes. “Take care of yourself, dearest. You worry too much.”

Rachel didn’t respond, just squeezed her mother’s shoulder, collected her things and left.