Puritan Bride (20 page)

‘Yes, you can. It is so easy. Just let me pleasure you.’ He let his hands stroke hip and thigh, the dip of her waist, and then return to her tempting breast. When his thumb encircled her nipple she gasped and would have pulled away, the first hint of alarm in her response, but he was sufficiently sure of her now that he would not permit it. He took possession of her lips once more, this time forceful and possessive, holding her still under the increased
demands of his touch. He was hard for her and knew his control would not last for ever.

‘We would get further if you would spread your thighs for me,’ he murmured against her mouth.

She did not know how to react to that—to be shocked or to laugh—but she opened to him and felt his fingers slide along the soft skin of her inner thighs. The heat in her body, the intense ache and tension in her belly startled her, but she did not resist. She held her breath.

‘What do I do?’ she whispered when she remembered to breath again.

‘Nothing. Just let me show you.’

He lifted himself above her, taking the weight on his arms. She was aware of nothing but his nearness, the solid mass of his body, the exquisite touch of his fingers, the outline of his broad shoulders above her in the greying light.

His invasion of her body was not easy. He had not been able to promise her that it would be, but he did his best. She would have cried out at his first thrust, at the shock, the thorough possession of her body, but he covered her mouth and absorbed her tangled emotions into himself. Then held himself still to allow her to become accustomed, to tolerate his size and weight. He stroked her, comforted her until he felt her relax around him and her breathing settle again.

‘Hold on to me. I will not hurt you now.’

He began to move slowly, easing his way further into
her, withdrawing and pushing forward again, as smoothly and gently as might be, his skin damp with the effort of holding back from his desire to possess and conquer. Until his hard-held control finally snapped. He surged deeply within her, shuddering into his own climax. She simply lay in his arms, stunned by the events, but surprised at her own relaxed acceptance of what was a shockingly intimate act. But she had trusted him, and he had not hurt her—well, no more than she could bear. The warmth and closeness gave her a sense of profound well being. She turned her face into his soft hair, pressed her lips to his throat and breathed in the male scent of him. And smiled a little.

He withdrew from her to lie beside her and gather her close. ‘Kate? Did you survive?’ She could hear the concern in his voice—but there was something else there that she did not recognise.

‘Oh, yes. It was not so very bad after all. I did not need to be afraid, did I?’

‘Thank you for your compliment! Now why had I expected flattery from you, of all people?’ He recognised the extreme tiredness in the slight slurring of her words. She felt totally warm and relaxed against him and he knew she would sleep. He had been successful in at least one of his aims.

He felt her smile against him in the dark. ‘I did not dislike it, my lord.’

For a virgin initiation, and given the circumstances,
that, he supposed, was as good as it got. He felt a surge of intense masculine satisfaction spread through him. He gathered her into his arms and kissed her with gentle intensity. ‘I did not dislike it either. Perhaps we will suit. I promise that it will be better next time.’

‘Yes.’ She was drifting into sleep. ‘I would like that.’ As he drew her head to rest on his shoulder, a faint sly shiver of dread touched his skin. It had been a deliberate and calculated decision to tell her that he loved her, to put his future into her hands. And such pretty hands they were. He closed his hand warmly over the one that lay on his chest. But where would he be if she could never return his love, but always saw him with suspicion and hostility as the damned Oxenden who had destroyed her family? It would leave him empty, emotionally adrift, when what had just occurred had shown him the splendid possibilities in a future lifetime of loving her. And yet she had turned to him with trust and had not disliked the experience. He shrugged mentally. He would do all in his power to make her happy and hope that love would follow. When she murmured against him, he pressed his lips lightly to her hair and she smiled.

He allowed her to sink into sleep, her body pulled close against his, and gradually followed her.

Kate woke, alone in Marlbrooke’s bed, with clear light illuminating the dark panelling and heavy drapes which at some time had been pulled back. She pushed herself up
on the pillows and tried to collect her scattered thoughts as she registered the sly aches and pains in her body. She felt that she had slept deeply, a sleep of exhaustion, and thought that it must be near to mid-day. The events of the previous day and night seemed so distant and out of focus, as if they had involved someone else. Or been in another lifetime. But she knew that the outcome of the near tragedy was very much her concern and she must face it. Her heart began to beat more rapidly at the prospect and her mouth dried.

And now there was Marlbrooke to consider. What had she done? It was all his fault!—and the effect of the wine that he had given her, which had so effectively smoothed out the nervous tension, destroying her reserve in her dealings with him. Colour flooded her cheeks. She would not think about it—not yet. What she must do was find some clothes to put on so that she could escape to Widemarsh before Marlbrooke returned, or any of the servants discovered that she had not slept in her own room. Legal contracts were one thing, the blessing of the Church was another. She wondered idly what her mother would say if she knew—but somehow it did not matter. She tore her mind away from the image of her body in Marlbrooke’s arms, the caress of his fine hands as his lips blazed a pathway from ear to throat to breast … She would not think of him. But her innate honesty compelled her to accept that she no longer hated him. Nor was she merely indifferent. Marlbrooke was no enemy of hers. She
pressed her fingers against her tender lips as a delicious shiver rippled through her body.

She needed a chemise—and focused on the one lying across the foot of the bed. She pulled it towards her with some relief—but this was not hers. It was beautiful. Her fingers stroked the soft creamy linen, sewn with such tiny stitches and marvelled at the fine lace trimming the narrow cuffs. For want of anything else, she pulled it over her head. How could she resist such an exquisitely feminine garment? A pattern of roses and honeysuckle rioted in pink silk embroidery round the neck and laced opening. She sighed with pleasure at the softness of it against her skin.

The smile still lit her face when the door opened. Marlbrooke entered, dressed hastily and informally in breeches and unlaced shirt, carrying a tray. He placed it on the bed beside her and surveyed her with raised brows. She returned his gaze, refusing to succumb to the nervousness that threatened to overwhelm her and reduce her to an embarrassed silence.

‘I have a headache,’ she informed him accusingly. ‘It was undoubtedly the wine you gave me last night.’

‘I thought you might have. I wager you ate nothing yesterday.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and removed the cloth to uncover the tray. ‘This should help a little.’

‘I don’t want food.’

‘Yes, you do. I have discovered, my dear Kate, that you
can be very difficult. Eat this.’ He handed her a piece of bread cut from a new loaf.

‘And you can be—’

‘Masterful!’

‘The word I was thinking of was manipulative!’

He grinned, his eyes alight with laughter, and touched her face, skimming his fingers over the curve of her cheek with a gentleness that made her catch her breath. ‘You look rested this morning. And undoubtedly very pretty. The chemise looks well.’

She blushed and dropped her eyes as embarrassment won. She could no longer blank out the intimate demands of his hands and lips and the manner in which her body had responded. She obediently ate some of the bread and took a sip of the weak beer.

With a smile he left her to eat and strode to the window to look out over the gardens. Her eyes followed him. He might smile at her but his shoulders were tense, and she sensed a preoccupation in his manner. Kate knew that she must talk to him about the poisoning. That she must be prepared to see condemnation and suspicion return to his face when he looked at her. How could she bear it when she had seen such tenderness and understanding?

He turned to face her, leaning back against the window frame, arms folded. ‘Better?’

‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘How is Lady Elizabeth this morning?’

‘Weak. Tired. Looking very fragile but sitting up,
and asking to see you. I told her you would come in a little while.’

There was no criticism here in Marlbrooke’s comment or his expression, but Kate feared the worst and could not remain silent. The words spilled out. ‘I did not poison her. I did not leave the jar of aconitum. I know there is no proof and that I have both the knowledge and the opportunity—Mistress Felicity had the truth of it—but I would never—’

He moved quickly to cover the space between them and his firm hand on her arm stilled the words. ‘I know it. There is no need for you to distress yourself. I do not need proof or arguments. I know that you would never harm my mother, Kate.’

‘But Felicity said that—’

‘If you had left the poison,’ he interrupted, his voice gentle but inexorable, ‘I doubt that you would have worked so assiduously to rid her system of the deadly essence and so heal her.’

‘Perhaps.’ Her fingers tightened in the bed linen until he covered them with his own to still them.

‘Whoever prepared it and left it in her bedchamber knew that my mother would drink it without question, believing it was from you and so would bring her relief. It is not your fault. You were used, as much as my mother was used, most likely to attack me. I have to accept that I have enemies. Now leave it.’

‘I cannot bear to think that—’

‘I do not hold you in any way responsible for so cowardly an act, dearest Kate. Does that satisfy you?’

‘Very well.’ There was nothing more she could say, but she was determined to do all in her power to discover the culprit. ‘I think I need to talk to Aunt Gilliver.’

‘Yes. I think you do.’ His expression became flat and cool for a moment. ‘She has never hidden her hatred of us or her desire to see the Priory back in Harley hands. Perhaps you will tell me the outcome of your conversation.’

Kate nodded. ‘Of course. You must know that I would tell you the truth.’

He took in her rigid shoulders, the anxiety in her compressed lips and the deep line between her brows and increased the pressure on her hand with his own in compassion. ‘I have never thought otherwise. How could I find it in me to love you if I did not trust you?’ He smiled with delight as she quickly drew her hand away from beneath his and pretended indifference—although the blush that rose from the lace edging of her chemise unquestionably denied it.

‘And now I must get dressed.’ Anything to prevent him from looking at her with such concern and understanding.

‘Why? I like you as you are.’

He simply sat, watching her solemn face as the flush tinted her cheeks a delicate pink. Smiling, he leaned forward, closed his hand around the nape of her neck, so
vulnerable with her short hair exposing its elegant curve, and pulled her gently towards him. She was irresistible in the embroidered chemise, her dark eyes lustrous and unfathomable, her body still pliant and warm from sleep. And so shy when he made his feelings obvious. He rubbed his lips softly over hers, pleased beyond measure when she made no move to pull away. Since she did not, he feathered the lightest of kisses from her ear, along her neck to the slope of her shoulder. Always gentle, keeping his own hunger hidden. When he returned his attention to her lips, he felt them curve under his in anticipation.

‘You are too enticing,’ he murmured as he used his tongue to trace the delicate outline, brushing her soft lower lip with his teeth. He laughed aloud at the look of surprise on her face; she was so unaware of her attraction, of the lure of her innocence. He found himself suddenly arrested by his determination that she should enjoy his body as much as he had enjoyed hers. He had never expected to feel such needs about a wife. One of the accommodating ladies at Court, perhaps, or a much valued, worldly-wise mistress—but not a wife who was in the way of a mere necessity. And certainly not an innocent unawakened girl who had acquired none of the Courtly arts to attract and seduce. He moved his hands to the unlaced neckline of her shift, intending to push it from her shoulders and expose her exquisite breasts when he caught the faintest hint of unease in her expressive eyes. He let his hands fall. Of course. It would not be an act of
consideration to take her again now. He smiled ruefully, brushing his hand longingly over her slight bosom. She did not resist, but he could not.

‘I expect,’ he explained his reticence, ‘that you have discovered a number of tender aches this morning, Mistress Harley.’

She bit her lip in some confusion. ‘Why … yes, my lord.’

‘Then I will not impose myself on you, however great the temptation. But I promise you that it will be a more memorable experience next time.’

‘I think I should not … that is to say, we …’ She floundered helplessly.

‘There is no need for guilt, Kate.’ He understood immediately. ‘Legally you are mine, complete with seals and signatures and all the force of the law. My body merely confirmed that. Does that help?’

‘Yes. I think so. You are very kind.’

‘No.’ He frowned a little, unnerved by such a level of trust. ‘It seemed a good time to take you to my bed,’ he explained simply. ‘And I believe the effect on you was beneficial.’

‘Yes. I slept well.’ She smiled up at him. ‘But I must get up. Where are my clothes?’

‘You will find some on the chest by the window.’

‘But they are not mine!’ She looked in some consternation where he indicated, at the deep blue velvet skirt and bodice that had been laid out for her. The sleeves were tight, ending in a deep lace-trimmed cuff, the skirt full
but plain without decoration. The scooped neckline was rendered more seemly by a deep lace collar. It was the perfect outfit for riding. Beside it was a matching cloak in the same velvet but lined—oh, luxury—with sables. ‘I cannot wear something so … so magnificent!’ But her eyes said different.