Lady Anne's Lover (The London List) (19 page)

“Yes, well, I’ve committed a few more than he has, I do assure you. I probably
should
be on my knees every night, Freddie or not.”

“In my experience, prayer is seldom answered.”

There it was again—the hidden hurt she refused to speak about. “That’s an answer in itself, isn’t it?”

“It isn’t fair.”

“No, it is not. In my travels I’ve seen much that makes me question. But much”—he paused, looking at the familiar landscape that was so dear to him, the distant hills, the break in the hedgerows marking his lane, the narrow rutted path home—“of the understated beauty, even the simplest leaf or rock, makes me hold those questions back. I had forgotten how sweet life can be until you came. What I said on the chapel step is perfectly true. You have changed my life.”

He counted the seconds until he felt her sharp little elbow jab him in the ribs. She was as ever unimpressed with his praise of her. He hoped someday she’d believe her own gentle power over him. He was as surprised as anyone to realize this little bit of a girl had such influence.

“Give over, Gareth.”

“Fine. When I wish to compliment you, I’ll just speak the words in Welsh. Then you cannot fault me. Rwyf am wneud wrth eu bodd yn eich.”
I want to make love to you
. Truer words were never spoken.

She pulled off her bonnet and lifted her face to the breeze as though she didn’t give two figs about what he’d said.

“Duw, rydych yn hardd.”
God, you are beautiful
. Tendrils of copper and amber hair had loosened from her bun and curled at her nape. If he weren’t so busy keeping Job on the road, he’d touch them. The horse was too spirited to pull the trap with grace and made his displeasure known, and it was all Gareth could do to keep the horse under control.

“
Duw
is God. I know that much after sitting in chapel for hours, and you’ve said it before. I believe we’ve blasphemed enough today.”

“Perhaps I was praying,” Gareth said with a grin. “Seriously, I want to thank you for coming to chapel with me. I know you must be used to something different.”

“I am. And I was rather hoping I would not have to go to church anymore now that I’ve run away.”

“Scandalous. A gentleman can sometimes get away with not darkening the church doors, but you ladies are required to be present and accounted for, doing good works and arranging flowers and whatnot.” The congregation today had been slightly more feminine than masculine. But there were still plenty of men, God-fearing men who’d given Gareth a wide berth and cast suspicious looks at his bride-to-be.

“I can manage it for two more weeks. And the day of the wedding, of course. After that, I make no promises. I am a heathen, you know.” Days ago, she had said she was not devout, so he’d been surprised when she suggested they go to chapel this morning. She’d been right, of course. They needed to be seen as the banns were read, and Gareth supposed his tarnished soul might be polished up without too much inconvenience.

“There’s something
I
can’t manage,” Gareth said as the house came into view. “I cannot keep myself from touching you. Let me make love to you. Rwyf am wneud wrth eu bodd yn eich,” he repeated.

Annie opened her mouth, then shut it. A day’s worth of seconds fell between them.

“Please.” Gareth knew he was begging, but couldn’t help it. If she gave herself completely to him, he might be able to convince her to stay, to throw in her lot with him and his tumbledown house, not run off again.

“Say yes, Annie. Ydy—that’s how we say it.”

“Ydy.” She spoke so softly he barely heard the word above the jingle of Job’s harness. But she’d said it, and now it was up to him to make her glad she did.

A
nne was not nervous. A kind of odd calm enveloped her as she hung the gray dress on a hook behind her bedroom door. Perhaps it was because of the nights she had already spent in her narrow bed with Gareth, giving him everything but the ultimate gift. She knew the sharp longing, the rise within her to arch up and reach for the forbidden. Even without consummating their betrothal, they had given each other hours of intense pleasure. True to his word, Gareth had always stopped, even when Anne had not wanted him to. He had spilled in her hand, and once, God help her, almost between her lips. She had gloried in it, ignoring his protests as she took control of him with her mouth. Anne had no idea she could be such a wanton—well, she thought ruefully, she should have known. The writing had been on the wall for some time. She’d taken risks in the past, but never with the promise of such rewards.

She thought she might be falling in love.

And that terrified her.

Gareth had told her days ago he didn’t believe in love. He had reason to be wary, as did she. She’d heard the empty blandishments when suitors were after her fortune the first year she was out, and then the sly innuendos when they thought they would not need to propose to get her into bed the second. None of those men had really cared for her, didn’t even know her. She hadn’t known herself.

She was just the daughter of a rich and powerful earl, a means to an end for someone with political ambitions or pockets to let. Even her own father did not value her in a proper way.

Anne shivered but pulled her shift over her head anyway. Her hair pins had poked into her scalp all morning in her attempt to appear unobjectionable to the strict Methodists, and she pulled them out and lined them up on the dresser with unnecessary precision. Gareth seemed to love her hair, even if he did not love her. In the not so distant past, redheads were accused of witchcraft simply for the bright color of their hair. Anne smiled into the tiny mirror as she brushed out the tangles. Perhaps she could bewitch him.

Did she want him forever? She thought the answer might be
ydy
.

Now that he was sober, he was full of charm, some of it practiced, to be sure, but amusing nonetheless. Oh, she didn’t fool herself—he had not given up drink entirely. He was imbibing ale at breakfast and sharing a glass of wine with her in the evenings over dinner, which relaxed them both. If he could continue to be responsible, to be moderate, that would be enough for her. It was unrealistic to expect a gentleman to forego all the pleasures of the table. And she was determined he’d have no reason to drown his troubles away, because there would be no troubles.

Now she
was
being unrealistic. Of course there would be troubles. But they could face them together.

Yes, her mind was made up. It must have come to its conclusion as her body was in the throes of bliss these past few days. She was weak. She was a sinner.

And ready to sin some more, even if it was Sunday.

There was no going back from this, and probably best to get it over with. It would not surprise her to find out her father would want to have her examined to prove that her marriage was a real one. The thought of his doctor poking at her filled Anne with revulsion.

Oh, her treacherous mind. She was a little less calm now, a little more nervous. She pinched her pale cheeks and chewed her lips, wishing she had the powder and rouge pots that were on her vanity table in Egremont House.

Gareth said he liked her freckles as they were, and gave them concerted attention as his tongue went from one to the other. Since she had so many, his tongue had been busy lately, on her skin, in her mouth, between her thighs. He had mastered her reluctance completely.

And here she was, crawling into bed and arranging the mended sheet over her body. Anne had wanted to undress herself, wanted a few minutes alone after their hasty lunch to bid her past a thorough good-bye. In a few weeks she would be married, but this was her true wedding night.

Or wedding afternoon. There was enough light filtering in through her homespun curtains even though the day was overcast. On the whole, she was glad she would be able to see all of Gareth in daylight. He had kept his shirt on through their previous encounters, but today Anne would demand he remove it. She wanted to see more than the toast-colored skin at his throat and the few curling dark hairs that peeked out from unbuttoned linen. She wanted to show him she was nothing like Bronwen, who had despised Gareth for his imperfection. And tomorrow, once this hurdle was passed and her barrier broken, she would visit with Mrs. Chapman to plan her wedding and try to find out who killed Lady Bronwen Lewys.

Thoughts of murder were not the best aphrodisiac, so Anne promptly put them out of her mind and concentrated on the feel of fabric on her bare skin. Her nipples were puckered, and a quick brush down to her nether curls told her she was wet already without Gareth even being in the room. He had turned on some sort of tap inside her, made her forget and think only of him. She prayed—not that she was a praying sort of girl anymore—she would please him today, not that God was apt to bless such activity out of holy wedlock.

Soon, though. They would speak their vows and forge a life together. Gareth was not the stranger he’d been just days ago when she’d proposed this madcap scheme.

He knocked, as he always did, and opened the door. Anne wouldn’t dream of denying him entry to her room. Or her bed.

He was wearing a dark blue robe she’d never seen before, quite an elegant thing which looked foreign. His feet were bare, his hair damp and brushed back from his temple. She had given him the extra cake of lilac soap and could smell that he’d used it from across her little room. He’d made the scent his own, though—there was no whiff of fragile femininity.

Gareth remained in the doorway, his eyes shadowed.

Anne sat up in bed, holding the sheet to her chest. “What is wrong?”

“Are you sure, Annie? We don’t have to do this today. Or even after we marry. I feel I’ve somehow importuned you away from your beliefs. You were so set on having a marriage of convenience. Leaving me afterward to start a new life.”

“You’ve worked very hard to change my mind.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “I have, haven’t I?”

“You told me yourself you set out to seduce me. Well, you have. There’s no point in me resisting. You were most persuasive in the trap wooing me in Welsh. Have you changed
your
mind?”

He didn’t move from the door. “To tell you the truth, I’m having a very inconvenient crisis of conscience. You are very young. And I am . . . not.”

“Are you telling me you are too old and unable to perform? I’ve seen no evidence of that so far.”

If a man could blush, Gareth was. “You are deliberately misunderstanding me. I should hope I’d be able to satisfy my wife for many years to come. This isn’t about potency or physical strength. I—I care about you, Annie. You deserve happiness. I may not be the man to give it to you.”

This was all very odd. It was she who should have cold feet, dashing headlong into bed and a marriage with a man she barely knew. A man with an unpleasant history and no prospects. A man who’d agreed to marry her for money without her having to twist his lone arm very hard. Anne supposed this sudden hesitation on his part was evidence of his good character, but right now she found it annoying. She was cold and curious and
besotted
. Damn Gareth for making her think when all she wanted to do was be swept away on a sea of sensation.

“Come in and sit down. It’s ridiculous we have to shout at each other across the room.”

“I didn’t realize I was shouting.” He sat down at the edge of the bed, gripping the robe so it wouldn’t fall open. Anne wanted to smack his hand away. “I don’t want you to regret this, Annie. We can wait until you are sure.”

Good lord, the man was an idiot. How much surer could she be unless she had a sign pinned around her neck that read, “Ravish me?” She had unfurled in his embrace each night since she’d injured her foot, a new petal opening at his every kiss and stroke. She was in lush bloom now, only waiting for her center to be breached. She dropped the sheet to her waist.

“I don’t want to wait.”

Gareth’s eyes refused to drop from hers to her exposed breasts. “What if there are consequences?”

“What do you mean?”

“What if I get you with child? Your old life will be lost to you. You’ll have no choice but to be trapped here with me then.”

A baby? Anne swallowed. She’d had no interest in children before, viewing them as a necessary evil to ensure succession. Children were sticky and squalling and frequently smelled most unlike lilac soap. Gareth had no title to pass on—no great fortune, either.

But Gareth’s child—

She saw a sturdy dark-haired boy, helping his father with the horses they would have. Gareth had spoken of turning Ripton Hall’s remaining acreage into a stud farm. The thought of riding again on prime horseflesh had thrilled Anne to her core, even more reason for her to stay and make a go of her marriage. Between horses and an attentive husband, she knew she could be happy.

“Do—do you
like
children?”

He shrugged. “It rather depends on the child. I’ve met a few that were most unimpressive. I think I’d like my own children, but of course I might be in error. There are many fathers who do not see eye-to-eye with their sons. Or daughters, for that matter. However, I always expected to have some if I married. I was prepared to be a stepfather not too long ago.”

Bronwen’s girls. Damn, but Bronwen was still in the room with them.

“I know there are ways to prevent consequences.”

Gareth raised a dark eyebrow. “Do you, now? You are a most exceptional virgin.”

It was Anne’s turn to blush. She’d been privy to any number of improper conversations when she was kicking up her heels in London. People thought
her
improper, far more experienced than she was because she’d led them to believe it was so. “One hears things.”

“One does. Unfortunately, I have none of the preventatives you may have heard about. I haven’t had a pressing need for them before you came into my life.”

“One can withdraw.”

Gareth laughed. “Can one? I seriously doubt my ability in that regard, Annie. I imagine I would be too overcome with my desire to mark you as my own to do the gentlemanly thing at my crisis. And believe me, there is nothing gentlemanly about me at the moment. I’ve caged the raging beast for the time being, but my control cannot be depended upon. You—you inflame me.”

Anne sniffed. “I inflame you so much so that you are offering me a reprieve to wiggle out of coupling with you. You cannot really want me then.”

“You think not? I beg to differ.” He took her hand and placed it over the figured satin of his robe. His cock was hard as marble. Why were they having this silly conversation when he should be tearing his fancy robe off? If he let her hand go, she’d tear it off for him, but instead he held her fast and continued to speak.

“I have wanted you ever since I woke up. And I don’t mean from sleep, but ever since you tore a strip off my drunken hide. You made me open my eyes to see what a wastrel I was, drowning my days and nights away. You make me want to prove something to you, Annie.”

“You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I disagree. I’d like to take you to bed, but I may disappoint you.”

Where had the real Gareth gone, the one who’d been devilishly determined and after her for days? “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Stubble it and kiss me, Gareth. If you haven’t noticed, I have goose bumps everywhere. I want you to relieve me of my virginity
right now
. Or at least within a reasonable time frame. We’ll worry about the wisdom of it all tomorrow.” That’s how she’d navigated the past two years since her debut, damning the consequences until the next morning.

His face softened. “You are the strangest girl.”

“I wonder. I think there are a great many of us who want to know what all the fuss is about. Thanks to the past week, I already have some idea, but I want it to be crystal clear.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “You might not like it.”

She had never expected to before, but Gareth had reorganized something inside her. If she had awakened him, he’d done the same to her. Even her hand tingled in anticipation.

“I’ll never know unless you toss me down on the mattress and have your way with me.”

His smile warmed her. “Ah. You do drive a hard bargain, Annie. My scruples are packing a portmanteau and heading to the coast.”

“Good riddance. Now, Gareth. I want you
now
.” She didn’t want an extra minute to change her mind. “And take off your robe. I want to see you.”

“I had planned to,” he said quietly. “You should see what you’re getting before you commit to me. If I—my arm, or lack thereof—if it disgusts you, we don’t have to proceed.”

“Oh, Gareth.” Was he afraid? She would not hurt him no matter how difficult it might be to view his deformity. She schooled her features and pulled the tie of his robe loose. He sat still as a stone monolith as she tugged the sleeves down. His left arm ended below his elbow in a knob of twisted darkened flesh. It was not one bit horrifying, just odd. The rest of him was almost perfect barring a nick or two from his service, though he was too lean. His broad chest tapered to narrow hips, an arrow of silky dark hair pointing to his rampant cock. Anne felt the urge to bend and kiss the silver bead of fluid from its tip, but she knew she had to do something else first.

Carefully, she cupped Gareth’s shortened arm in the palm of her hand. He shuddered and the limb jumped, but she held it in a gentle caress. “You are beautiful,” she whispered.