Lords of Desire (26 page)

And damn to hell and back the sinking feeling that thought brought to the pit of his stomach.

At least he’d got Miss Smyth to admit the obvious. With Lady Grace’s departure only the world’s greatest dunderhead would believe there were no empty rooms, and he was not quite that yet. Oh, the woman had tried to fob him off with some Banbury tale about it taking several days to get a room ready, but he was having none of it. Then she’d tried to lecture him about Nell, but he was most certainly having none ofthat. He’d cut her off before she’d got three words out.

He picked up his valise. So he was finally moving. At last he would have some peace. At last—

He heard the rustle of fabric behind him, the scrape of a shoe on carpet. He turned.

Nell stood in the doorway.

God. He felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach…or lower.

He gritted his teeth. So he’d been lying to himself. He did still wish the past could be undone. No matter. Nell was done with him.

“Nell.” Surely his voice sounded properly remote? He’d had years of practice hiding his emotions.

She stepped—lurched, really—into the room and jerked the door shut. Did she square her shoulders? Surely her jaw looked very determined. He had a sudden memory of her as a girl, insisting she could climb the big tree by the loch, even though he knew she was deathly afraid of heights.

What was this about?

“Are you changing rooms, Ian?”

He shrugged. “Miss Smyth finally agreed to give me my own”—he cleared his throat—

“bed.” Damn. Why hadn’t he said “room”? No, it had to be bed. He was as bad as a lust-crazed schoolboy. Had she noticed? She didn’t appear to have done so. “She couldn’t very well deny me, with Lady Grace leaving.”

Nell bit her lip. “No. No, I don’t suppose she could.” She glanced at the bed. “You’ll be more comfortable.” She blushed.

“The bed”—good God. Surely he wasn’t blushing as well? “I mean, this room is rather cramped.”

She nodded. She was chewing her lip now. Her hands twisted her skirt. He should go.

They would both be more comfortable when this interview—this exceedingly awkward interview—was over.

Once he went out that door, he’d be leaving part of his past behind. His youth.

His heart.

Ridiculous. He sounded like an actor in a bad farce. If he did feel as if he were cutting off a part of himself, well, sometimes amputation was necessary to save the patient. He took a step toward the door.

Nell didn’t move. If anything, she looked more determined. Her hands stopped twisting and instead clutched her gown in two fists. Her dress was going to be sadly wrinkled.

She frowned at him, her jaw now like granite. Was he going to have to push her aside to get out of this room?

“Did you want the baby, Ian?”

His stomach lurched. “What?” The baby? Why was she talking about the baby now?

They had never spoken about the topic before.

“Did you want the baby?” Her voice was thin, tense, teetering on the edge of tears.

He felt as if he were teetering, too. As if he were blindfolded, forced to cross over an abyss with only a thin rope as a bridge. One wrong step and he would plunge into a morass of emotion, of pain and regret.

“Of course. Of course I wanted the baby, Nell.”

She was still standing stiffly, blocking the door.

“You never said so.”

“I—”Had he never said so? Surely he’d told her. Well, perhaps not. That time was such a dark, confused memory. He’d been sad when it was clear Nell would lose their child.

He’d been so proud he’d got her pregnant, cocky young cub that he’d been. But he’d thought they would just try again.

It was true, he’d not felt the loss as intensely as Nell. He’d been more upset by her pain.

He’d hated seeing her so distraught. He’d wanted desperately to fix things, to make her whole and happy again.

Nell was crying finally, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hands still gripping her skirts, her body stiff.

“Of course I wanted the baby, Nell.” Perhaps this was as it should be. They should share this truth before they parted. “But I wanted you more. You shut me out.” He heard the pain in his own voice. He sniffed; his eyes were wet. Stupid. He was not some sensitive dandy to be crying over the past. “I didn’t understand—I still don’t understand—why I had to lose you, too.”

She shook her head, her hands now fluttering at her waist. “You didn’t lose me.”

“I did. You closed me out—out of your bed, out of your life, out of your heart.”

“No. I-I just hurt too much. And I was so afraid.” She was crying hard now, her words all broken. “It was all my fault. I’m so sorry, Ian.”

He dropped his valise and stepped closer. He still couldn’t bear to see her hurting. “Nell, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was. I lost our baby, Ian.”

“No.”

“Yes. I failed you, your clan—everyone.”

“No.” He wanted to comfort her, but he would wait for her to close the distance between them. It was her choice. “You didn’t fail. It was just bad luck or fate or…” Or what? How could he explain the tragedies of life? God’s will? God’s curse? No, he’d never thought God so cruel. “Things happen, Nell. Sometimes things just happen.”

“But I lost our baby.”

Their child, born of their love—their young, blissfully hopeful, wildly romantic love.

Had they had only enough love for one child? He’d not thought so.

“Our baby died, Nell. You didn’t lose him. Something went wrong. It was not your fault.” He paused, swallowed. “What I never understood was why we couldn’t have tried again?”

She shook her head as if she could shake the memories away. “I wasn’t ready.”

“And I pushed you?” Would things have been different if he’d waited longer to come to her bed? But he had waited for what had seemed like forever…at least to a twenty-year-old boy.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I—I was just so afraid.” She shook her head. “I was wrong.”

“You were young. We were both young. You should—we should—forgive ourselves.”

They had probably wed too young. Many of his friends had told him he was making a mistake, that he should sow some wild oats first. But he had been so certain.

He ran his hand through his hair. “I came after you, Nell, but you wouldn’t see me. That hurt. I wrote you, but you wouldn’t answer, and that hurt, too. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Nell wiped her cheeks with her fingers. “I was so miserable, so wrapped up in my pain. I couldn’t think of anything—anyone—but me.”

She sniffed, straightened. The odd, determined look was back in her eyes. “But if you are willing—if you can forgive me—I would like to try again.”

Was he understanding her? “You’d like to try what again?”

“Making a baby.”

“Ah.” His knees were going to give out. He was going to collapse in a heap at her feet.

She’d like to try making a baby again. All right. He was certainly eager to do that. More than eager. If only she would come closer. He’d vowed to let her be the one to close the gap between them, but if she didn’t do so very soon, he might break that vow.

A very insistent part of him was trying to leap the gap on its own.

She did move, then—to place one hand flat against his chest, holding him away.

“But you must understand a few things, Ian.”

“Yes.” He kept his hands at his sides through an extreme exercise of will. “What things?”

“I never had anything—anything—to do with Mr. Pennington or anyone else. You are the only man ever to have come to my bed.”

“All right.” This was important. He could tell it was important. He told his impatient organ to be patient. He was delighted he’d been Nell’s only lover, but he really, really wanted to stop talking and start doing the lover part. “I believe you.”

“And from this day on I must be the only woman in your bed. There can be no more mistresses.”

“Ah.”

“Do you promise?” She was frowning at him, but she looked uncertain, too. “Do you swear it?”

Perhaps he had a demand as well. Much as he’d like to fall into that bed with Nell, maybe something else was more important.

“Do you mean to be a wife to me, then? This is not only about having a child, is it? It’s about having a life together as well? Because I will tell you, losing you once was enough.

I cannot go through that again. I would not survive it.”

Her other hand joined the first, and she took the last step to bring her body against his.

“Yes. I want to be your wife, Ian—and the mother of your children, God willing.”

“And if God doesn’t will, Nell? If we aren’t blessed with bairns, will ye still be my wife?”

“Yes. Yes, Ian, I will.”

“Then I can swear there will be no other women. It is an easy oath, Nell. I never wanted anyone but you. When I did go to other women’s beds—and I did, but only after you left me—I always wanted them to be you. I never stopped loving you. Never.”

She closed her eyes briefly. She believed him. She truly did believe him. “And I never stopped loving you, Ian.” She moved a hand from his chest to his cheek. “I’ve missed you so much. For the longest time, I couldn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. I was as frozen as Kilgorn Loch in winter. But now…seeing you again has melted the ice around my heart.”

He smiled slightly, but his eyes were intent, almost strained. “I would like to try to melt more, Nell. I would really like…I am really very anxious…do you think we might go to bed now?”

“Now?” She flushed. “It’s barely past noon.”

His hand covered hers. “That never stopped us before.”

“No.” She felt her flush deepen. The low throbbing had started again. “But we are older now.”

“Older, but not old. Not decrepit.”

She laughed. “No, not decrepit.”

“And it has been so long since I’ve really touched you. These last two nights have driven me to the edge of madness. And now you are here. You say you wish to”—his voice dropped, grew huskier, deeper—“try to make a child.”

Heat and dampness pooled low in her belly and between her legs. She was suddenly very hot. Her clothes were too tight, too confining.

Whyshould they wait?

“Please, Nell? Please let me make love to you now.”

She smiled then. She had vowed to be brave; now she would be daring. He was her husband and he was right. It had been far too long since he’d been a true husband to her.

She dropped her hands and started working open his waistcoat buttons.

“Very well, if you insist.” Her fingers paused. They’d been young and inexperienced when last they’d done this; she was still inexperienced, but he…“It has been ten years.

You will be disappointed.”

“How can I be disappointed, Nell? I am finally with my wife whom I love.”

“But I know nothing; I’ve learned nothing—”

He put his fingers over her lips. “You were very inventive the night before last.”

Was he referring to—? She flushed.

He smiled. “We have thought and talked and discussed enough, Nell. Now let’s just feel.” He replaced his fingers with his lips. They were warm and firm and…comforting.

Welcoming. “Remember,” he murmured as his lips moved to her eyelids, “we have this afternoon and tonight to learn together. We have a lifetime. There is no hurry.”

His lips trailed down to her jaw and then to a very sensitive spot behind her ear. Her knees melted; she had to cling to him or collapse.

His mouth came back to hers and his tongue swept inside. His touch was urgent, consuming.

She pressed against him. Shewanted to be consumed. She wanted to be so much a part of him no one could tell where she ended and he began. She never, never wanted to be separated from him again.

They were separated by far too much clothing.

Ian must have read her mind. “This is a very lovely frock, Nell, but it would be much lovelier on the floor,” he whispered as his hands moved to deal with her buttons.

“Mmm.” His fingers were exceedingly nimble. Had he learned—no, she would not think about the other women. And truthfully he’d been equally fast getting her out of her clothes when they were first married.

The frock fell to the ground, quickly followed by her stays and shift. The room’s cool air slid over her skin, pebbling her nipples.

“Nell!” Ian reached for her, but she stopped him with a hand on his chest again—rather, on his waistcoat. His very stylish, still very-much-in-the-way waistcoat. She’d only got one button open when she’d been distracted.

He frowned. “Wha—?”

She smiled up at him, liking the hot, smoky look in his eyes. “My turn.” She slipped the second button from its hole.

“I can do that quicker.”

“Oh, is speed the object then? I seem to remember…very faintly, you understand…you once telling me that faster wasn’t always better.”

He gave a short, breathless laugh. “Did I say that? I dinna think I had that much sense when I was just a lad.”

“You were more than a lad.”

He shook his head, inhaling sharply as her hands, freeing the last button on his waistcoat, brushed over the sizable bulge under the fall on his breeches. “Nay, I was hardly more than a boy.”

He traced a circle around one of her nipples as she pulled his shirt free of his waistband.

It was her turn to inhale sharply. Damp heat flooded the part of her that was most eager for his touch. Perhaps slow wasn’t possible this time, but she would try to wait as long as she could.

“Take off your shirt.”

“My pleasure.” Ian shrugged out of his waistcoat and grabbed the hem of his shirt, jerking it over his head and flinging it into a corner. Then he reached for her, bringing her up against him. His hands slid all over her, from her shoulders down her back along her waist to her rounded buttocks and back up to skim the sides of her breasts where they were pressed against his chest.

Her hands were busy, too, exploring. His skin was soft, but his muscles were hard. She buried her face in his chest and breathed deeply. He smelled like…home. Not Pentforth or even Kilgorn Castle, but like heather and sun and Scotland. Like Ian.

Ian, who still had his breeches on. They were scratchy against her skin, and the hard ridge hidden in them pressed urgently into her belly.