No Man's Bride (14 page)

V
alentine began to rise, but Catherine waved him back down. “No need to rise, sir. I only came to ask if you would make sure these letters are delivered for me.” She handed them to him, and he took them, glanced at the names.

“Of course. How are you feeling this morning? I hope you are not too tired.”

Catherine looked down at the floor. She stood at the edge of a brown-and-gold rug. Beneath her slipper, a sliver of hardwood floors winked.

“Sir.” She finally looked into his eyes. “I must apologize for last night. I do not know what came over me.” She looked down again, unable to hold his gaze and speak of such things. “I did not
mean to be so forward.” She peeked at Valentine. He was staring at her.

“I see.” He cleared his throat and stood, coming around the desk. “I assure you, I was not offended.”

“It won’t happen again.” Catherine forced herself not to back away when he came close to her.

“I sincerely hope that’s not true.”

She took a deep breath. “I have been thinking about our conversation.”

He furrowed his brow. “Is there one in particular?”

“The one in the carriage.” She shot him a glare. “You know,
the
one. About the—ah, marriage bed.”

“Ah, that one.”

“I have unraveled your plan.”

One eyebrow angled upward as he leaned a slim hip on the desk. Funny how she hadn’t noticed how slim his hips were until now. He was lean all over—that much she remembered from last night—but she had not appreciated what a long, lithe shape he had and how attractive that could be in a man.

“I gave myself away, did I?” he said, and his tone was wry.

She blinked and tried to refocus. She looked into his face. “Yes, you did. If you think I don’t—”

But staring into his face was no better than looking at his body. He was far too handsome,
and looking at him always elicited a response in her. She’d known so few men, and none as handsome as this one. His hair, still too long, curled over his collar, and it was inky black against his tan skin. His skin was marred by a dim shadow of beard growth, the color on his chin and cheeks almost a stain on that chiseled face. And his eyes. She had the most trouble there. His eyes were far too soft when they focused on her. They seemed almost…kind.

She shook her head. “What was I saying?”

“Something about you unraveling my plan.”

“Right. If you think I don’t realize that a marquess needs children—heirs and legitimate heirs—then you must think me a fool, and you’ve treated me as one, too.”

He pursed his lips, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I’m not sure I follow.”

She sighed in exasperation. Of course he understood! “You told me it was my choice whether or not to share your bed. And you told me”—she pointed accusingly at the ring he’d given her— “this was a symbol of your promise. But what you neglected to mention was that if I chose not to share your bed, that would not solve your problem. Even if you have other women, you still need a legitimate heir.”

“I see.”

“Yes, I do, too.” She crossed her arms. “So in truth, this ring means nothing, sir. You will either
have to bed me against my will or throw me out to achieve your aims.”

“Is that so?” He was still leaning against the desk, arms crossed, looking not at all concerned with what she was telling him. In fact—she peered more closely at his mouth—he almost looked as though he were amused by her.

“Sir!” she said forcefully, hoping her tone would make him see the seriousness of what she said. “I do not think you quite comprehend.”

He began to work his way around the desk. “Oh, I comprehend, Catie. I think you are the one who does not understand.”

She blinked, watching him take another step closer, though her cowardly feet desperately wanted to turn and flee. But she would stand her ground and see this settled between the two of them. “What do you mean, sir?” He was standing close now, and she had to tilt her head up so she could look into his face. “What do I not understand?”

He lifted a hand and brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. She shivered at the intimate touch. He was so close now that he was beginning to have an effect on her. She could smell his scent. It reminded her of their ride yesterday morning—a combination of leather saddles, pine trees, and new spring mornings. She leaned closer.

“Many things, my Catie,” he said, and this time
when he lifted his hand to stroke her hair back, she anticipated his touch and bent into it.

Her heart was pounding now, and she was so terrified that she needed to count to at least a hundred before she would feel better. But the blood rushing in her ears and the warm zing of Valentine’s touch on her cheek made it impossible to think. She could not even remember her numbers. She knew three was a number, but what came before?

Valentine tilted his head down so that his eyes were level with hers. “What you do not understand is that you will come to my bed willingly. You want me as much as I do you.”

She shook her head, not managing to move away from him at all. Instead, she actually worked her cheek against the rough palm of his hand. She felt his calluses against the skin of her face and wondered how they would feel on other parts of her body. Lord, Valentine was right. She did want him.

“I don’t want you,” she lied. “Last night, I was tired. I was not myself.”

He put a finger over her lips. “Last night your defenses were down, and you acted on your true impulses. You are afraid of men. How could you not be after living with a man such as your father?”

She felt as though a fist slammed into her belly, the shock and surprise so real she hunched over. “B-but that was just a dream. It wasn’t real.”

The finger pressed against her lips again. “You don’t have to lie to me, Catie. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Catherine took a deep breath and looked away.

Valentine’s hand stroked her cheek. “He hurt you, didn’t he?”

“No!”

“Locked you in a closet.”

“I never said that.”

“Not with words, no. But I need to know what to believe. Tell me the truth, did your father force you into this marriage?”

“I already told you—”

“I need to hear it again. The truth.”

Catherine clenched her jaw. How many times did she need to prove herself? She was tired of defending her innocence. “I told you the truth, and I don’t care if you believe me. Lord knows I’m used to being doubted.”

Tears stung her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks. Valentine reached forward to wipe them away. “You’re right. I should trust you. I’m sorry I doubted you before. You’re not a liar.” He lowered his head so that his forehead touched hers. “How can I make you see that there’s more to the world than the way you grew up? How can I show you that there can be tenderness between a man and a woman? And there can be passion. It can be so exciting you forget to breathe. I can make you forget to breathe.”

“No.” She began to withdraw, and Valentine caught her hand.

“I know you’re afraid of men. You protect your emotions because you had to survive with your father. But I’m not your father.”

She shook her head, unable to put her fears into words. She’d never felt so close to anyone as she’d felt to him last night. She’d never needed anyone as she’d needed him. But she didn’t deserve him or his promises of happiness and security. She’d never felt truly safe or happy. She didn’t know what it was to have that.

“You’re my wife,” Valentine said. “I want you in my bed. I want you in every way a man wants a woman. Let me show you how it can be.”

“No.”

“Yes. Don’t you think you deserve pleasure and happiness? Don’t you think you’re worthy enough?”

She stared at him, wondering how he’d managed to read her innermost thoughts.

But Valentine was looking into her eyes, and his own softened at what he saw. He released her hand and cupped her cheeks with both of his hands. She allowed it, though his touch unsettled her. “You are so beautiful and so strong. Look at the misfortunes the world has dealt you, and yet you approach every new challenge as though it were an adventure. Let me show you how you deserve to be treated.”

“No.” She tried to pull away again, and he allowed it. “No, I don’t want you to touch me.”

“Very well then.” He held his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “You kiss me.”

She’d been slowly backing away, but at his suggestion, she stopped.

“I won’t touch you,” he promised. “I won’t even kiss you back, if you don’t allow it. I’ll be completely at your mercy, under your command.”

Catherine bit her lip and considered. Inadvertently, her eyes went to his lips. They were well shaped, full, with a hint of color. Last night they’d been warm and firm.

“I give you my word, Catie,” Valentine said, leaning that slim hip against his desk again. “I will not touch you.”

She stood still, considering.

“Catie, if the prime minister trusts me, surely you can.”

Oh, now he was all but daring her. As though she were afraid. As though she hadn’t been the one to kiss him last night. “Very well. I shall kiss you.” She held up a finger. “Once.”

He wrapped both of his hands around the edge of his desk behind him, then slouched so that he would be at an accessible height. “I am at your disposal,” he said, and closed his eyes.

And still she did not move. He stood waiting blindly, hands immobile, legs braced apart, a warrior at her mercy.

She took one step forward, then another. And then she stopped. She was only a few steps away,
and the closer she got, the more daunting the whole task seemed. Was she just supposed to walk up and kiss the man? This had been so much easier when she was already in his arms last night.

She put her foot out to take another tentative step forward, and her shoe hovered.

He cracked one eyelid. “You’re not going to leave me standing here, are you?”

“Ah—”

He’d closed his eyes again, and she thought how uncharitable it would be if she ran away, leaving him this way. After all, he was practically helpless.

She took another step and then another until she was directly before him. She was close enough to kiss him now, close enough so that he could have reached out and grasped her, but he did not. He kept his eyes closed and his hands locked on the desk, even as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

She quickly withdrew, and he did not grab her and gobble her up. In fact, he still stood like a statue, eyes closed.

She frowned at him. That was all the reaction her kiss was to receive? He looked as though he were still waiting.

“Lord Valentine?”

“Quint,” he said. Then, “Hmm?”

“I kissed you.”

He cracked one eye again. “When?”

She put her hands on her hips. “Just now. A moment ago.”

“Are you certain?” He frowned. “I didn’t feel anything. You’d better do it again.” And he closed his eyes.

She frowned back at him. She might be inexperienced, but she was no fool. Of course he had felt the kiss. He just wanted her to do it again. She almost turned and left, but again, it seemed unkind to leave him thus. And so she tilted her head and kissed him once more, this time harder and lingering a bit longer. Her pulse jumped as she remembered the feel of his hands on her last night.

When she pulled back, he was looking at her and smiling. “That was better,” he said. “And you haven’t turned into an ugly toad yet from putting your lips on mine.”

“Best not to chance it further.”

“You chanced it last night. Kiss me like you did last night.”

Catherine shook her head. “No. Last night was—it was—” What was it? “I cannot, sir.”

“Why? Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I want you, it’s just that—” She slammed her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes. Oh, Lord, how mortifying.

He put his hands around hers and pulled them down. “Catie, you are free to reject me and my bed, but wouldn’t you like to know what you are rejecting first? Don’t you deserve to know?”

She turned away. Why was she listening to him? And how could she not? She did deserve to know pleasure. Everyone would assume she’d shared his bed no matter what she did. Shouldn’t she reap some reward? She wanted him. Perhaps it was a mistake. Perhaps she was a fool, but she needed him to touch her again like he had last night.

She turned back to him. “Would you”—she paused and took a deep breath—“would you kiss me?”

“Oh, God, yes.” He bent toward her then pulled back again. “But this is purely by your request. I’ll stop whenever you say.” He leaned close again. “Remember what I said about the prime minister,” he whispered. “You can trust me.”

Slowly, he lifted one hand, and she could not help but pull back.

“I’m going to cup the back of your head.” His voice was level, and his eyes never left hers. “You’ll like it. In fact, it would be nice if you did the same.” He moved slowly, sliding his fingers through her hair. “Touch me,” he murmured.

She cupped the back of his neck. The action drew her closer to him so that her body was almost flush against his. It was an awkward and heady feeling, but not a wholly unpleasant one. And she decided that she actually liked having her hand on the back of his neck. It gave her some power and some control over what he did.

Or at least the appearance of it.

Then Valentine slid his other hand about her waist, and the blood began to thrum in her ears again. She looked up at him and found she was lost in his mahogany eyes.

Three, eight, seventeen…

And then he bent and put his mouth on hers. She tensed at first, expecting an assault, but his mouth was cool and dry, as she’d remembered it from last night.

He moved his lips against hers, lightly at first and then with more pressure. He almost seemed to be nibbling at her lips, and the thought made her smile. But she wanted so much more. She wanted to feel again what she’d felt last night.

To her pleasure, the light pressure of his lips increased, and she felt the flick of his tongue. It was a jolt, and she almost stepped back, but he held her close with the hand on her back. Still, she could not help but tense up, and that was when the hand on the back of her neck began to do its work. He kneaded and worked his fingers into her skin until she relaxed again.