Regency Debutantes (63 page)

‘Even to the point of forcibly unclothing me? I do not think so,’ he said with a roguish smile.

Kathryn’s cheeks were now blazing a fiery hot red. ‘Yes, well…’ she muttered and stared down at her feet. ‘That couldn’t
be helped. The wound needed my attention and you weren’t proving to be of much assistance. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’

It was the same expression that she had used at Lady Finlay’s ball, for the slip in her dance steps…and their shared kisses in the moonlit room. Ravensmede felt a warmth expand within his chest as the memories flowed. ‘You could never embarrass me, Kathryn.’

The clear gaze slid up to meet his, and he felt a flood of desire and need and tenderness. A shy smile spread across her mouth.

‘The other day when you sent me away, what had happened to upset you so much?’ It was a question that had worried at him since walking in to find her in that state within her bedchamber. For all that she had endured he had never seen her so affected, not until that day. The sight of her pain and the sound of the formality in her voice had made him want to snatch her into his arms, to kiss her long and hard and passionately until she told him what was wrong. And that whispered plea,
Please, Nicholas, don’t make this any harder than it already is,
had torn at his heart. For Ravensmede, a man used to taking what he wanted, when he wanted it, such impotence was frustrating. His grandmother knew what the matter was about, with her little looks of feigned innocence, and contrivance to keep him away from her companion. But the old lady had stubbornly refused to be forthcoming and doggedly changed the subject each time he had mentioned Kathryn’s name.

He watched her fingers catch at the material again, grip it hard. ‘It’s of no consequence,’ she said.

‘Kathryn…’ He raised one eyebrow and peered at her as if he would fathom the truth in that way.

But her head just shook a quick denial. ‘It doesn’t matter, not now.’

He heard the slight breathless catch in her voice, watched her take a single step closer. His right hand stretched towards her, reaching out for her, a gesture of conciliation and more.

It seemed that she hesitated, her gaze unmoving upon his
hand, her face impassive. Then her eyes flickered up to his and he could see their colour had darkened to a soft smoky grey. The moment stretched. Time stilled. Awareness narrowed until there was only the two of them in existence. Thud of heart, flutter of pulse. Her small hand slid into his, his fingers closed around hers. From there he did not know quite how she came to be in his arms or his lips pressed against hers, possessing and yielding all at once.

She was warm and soft, an alluring mix of innocence and passion. His hands swept the length of her back, down to the curve of her hips, pulling her closer. Her mouth opened beneath his, inviting further exploration. The tip of his tongue slipped within, teasing, tantalising. Tongue touched tongue, lapped together, twisting, licking, sucking. All rational thought fled. She was his, to pleasure, to worship, to love. Even as he clutched her closer he heard the little mew sound in her throat, felt the nuzzle of her breasts against his chest. All of Lord Ravensmede’s good intentions were lost.

His lips traced a pattern along the delicate line of her jaw to find the tender skin beneath her ear. She gave herself up to the sensations rippling through her. From the strange ache down deep and low in her pelvis to the pulsating heat in her thighs, Kathryn embraced what was happening to her. This was far beyond any dream. It was urgent and wicked and wild, but Kathryn wanted it never to stop. She needed to feel Nicholas’s arms around her, wanted his mouth on hers. Her fingers caressed against his cheek, stroking down over the rough stubble of his chin. All the love that she felt welled up and flowed out to him, spilling over in every touch, in every kiss. And in her mind the silent words whispered again and again,
I love you, I love you,
until she knew not whether she gasped them aloud.

He plucked the pins from her hair, one by one, until the glorious mass of curls hung free. His fingers tangled within the heavy chestnut tresses, revelling in their glossy softness. Her hair
smelled fresh and clean as if she’d rinsed it in a wash of lavender water. His hands followed her hair down to where it brushed against her breasts, cupped the two small mounds, massaging them through the material of her dress with gentle passion.

The soft white skin grew more sensitive with each caress, every stroke, until she thought that his heat would scorch her. And then when his fingers eventually found passage beneath the pale green bodice, to burrow under every layer of separating material to capture the bare skin of her breasts, she could not contain the sudden sharp inhalation of breath. Instinctively her back arched, thrusting her taut nipples hard against him, seeking more of something that she did not understand. Each and every touch sent sparks of pleasure writhing deep into her stomach. Rational thought had long since fled.

The groan growled low in his throat and his arms locked around her as he twisted and pushed her down so that she lay on the bed beside him. ‘Kathryn,’ he gasped her name as if it was air and he was a man suffocating for want of it. ‘Kathryn,’ he whispered again as he rolled his length on top of her.

‘Oh, Nicholas,’ she sighed and wrapped her arms around him.

A voice sounded from the direction of the stairs on the landing beyond the door of Ravensmede’s bedchamber. ‘What do you mean I can’t go in there! I don’t need you to announce me to m’own grandson,’ bellowed Lady Maybury. ‘If I want to see Lord Ravensmede I’ll damn well see him!’

Kathryn and Nicholas froze as the full realisation of their situation hit them.

The dowager’s small feet thumped noisily down the corridor, growing ever louder as she made her way to her grandson’s bedchamber.

Kathryn’s eyes widened in horror. She tried to scramble up, to repair the loosened bodice, the long curls that flowed wantonly over her shoulders. But Nicholas’s hand stayed her frantic panic. He shook his head, touched a finger to her lips, and imprisoned her wrist with his other hand.

A sharp knock sounded at the door. ‘Nicholas, are you decent?’ Lady Maybury’s words came clear through the mahogany.

‘’Fraid not, Grandmama,’ said Ravensmede with a lazy drawl. ‘I wouldn’t want to shock your delicate constitution by the sight I present at this minute.’ His eyes glowed wickedly as he looked down at Kathryn lying beneath him.

‘Don’t be absurd,’ came the withering reply. ‘I’ve seen it all before. Had you naked on m’knee before you were in breeches.’

Despite the predicament they found themselves in, Ravensmede smiled at his grandmother’s words. ‘Grant me ten minutes,’ he said laughingly.

A surly-sounding grunt. ‘I’ll be back in five,’ the dowager said, and the footsteps receded back along the landing.

Only then did a very white-faced Kathryn release the breath she had been holding. Realisation of her predicament screamed loud. And now that her ardour had disappeared without a trace, she was suddenly shamefully aware that she was on Lord Ravensmede’s bed, with the man himself lying atop her. Nicholas had not the least look of embarrassment; indeed, he was smiling down at her in what could only be described as a positively dangerous manner. Her eyes widened with growing horror. ‘N-Nicholas…’ her tongue stumbled over his name, as she tried to free herself from her position.

The wickedness of Nicholas’s smile intensified and slowly his face moved towards hers…to drop the smallest, innocent kiss on to the tip of her nose. ‘Kathryn Marchant, you are quite the most beautiful, beguiling woman I’ve ever met.’ Without another word he rolled off her and, leaning down, helped her up to her feet. In one fluid action he had reached around to the back of her dress and fastened the buttons he had undone not so very long ago. Everything about him was smooth, lazily efficient and supremely confident.

The same could not be said for Kathryn. Not only was she in a state of abject shock at the extent to which passion had
pushed her, but her hands were shaking so much she could barely fashion her hair into some semblance of order.

‘Here, let me,’ he instructed, and simply turned her around, coiled her hair into a neat chignon and pinned it into place with much less fuss than any abigail would have caused.

‘How do you—’

‘Don’t ask.’ He spun her round, delivered a final kiss to her mouth, took her by the hand and guided her towards the door. ‘And now you had better go before my grandmother decides to return.’

‘Nicholas…’ Kathryn bit at her bottom lip.

‘We’ll talk about this later, Kathryn.’ Opening the door by the smallest crack, he scanned beyond, then, giving Kathryn’s fingers one last reassuring squeeze, pushed her towards the door directly across the landing; the door that led into her own bedchamber.

It was exactly five minutes later that Lady Maybury made a reappearance, and an hour after that when she finally left him to his rest. And all the while Lord Ravensmede was forced to pretend that he had not just reached a decision of monumental proportions. Not until his grandmother left the room did he allow himself to think back on the woman who had come to him out of concern and whom he, in return, had practically seduced. Had not his grandmother come knocking at the door of his bedchamber he wondered if he would have had either the strength or the sense to stop what he was about.

Kathryn absorbed him, totally, completely. Just touching her, kissing her, made him forget all else. What chance had he then when she lay beneath him on his bed? It was enough to drive any man mad. For all these years Nicholas Maybury had called the tune when it came to women. And heaven knew he had practised it often enough, on rich women, powerful women; all of them widowed or well experienced at their profession, some of them even other men’s wives.

Now one woman had changed all that. One woman alone
could have called any tune she wanted, and he would have danced to it a thousand times over. One woman alone had the power to gladden his heart, to make him feel dizzy with desire, or to cast him into a doldrum of depression. She was neither wealthy nor titled, neither fashionable nor flirtatious. As Cadmount had so accurately observed, she was not even his type. None of it made any difference. Nicholas loved her. And he meant to marry her. The woman’s name was Kathryn Marchant.

It was only later that same evening when he made enquiry of his butler as to the whereabouts of his grandmother and her companion that he discovered them to have departed for a dance in the local assembly rooms. First instinct told him to seek them out, check that Kathryn understood that his intentions were honourable—hadn’t he given her every reason to think otherwise? Second thoughts suggested he wait where he was. Care must be taken to ensure that no contrary gossip linked Kathryn’s name with his. As his wife she would be safe, but until then…Reputations were a fragile thing in the hands of the
ton.
He was sure that his grandmother already had her suspicions about his relationship with her companion, and was warning him off. Why else was she doing her damnedest to keep them apart? It was for the best that Kathryn be seen in Brighthelmstone without him. Soon they would be together. Ravensmede would have to content himself with that. But had he known what was unfolding in the assembly rooms, the Viscount would have decided very differently.

The air was unpleasantly stuffy and hot within the assembly rooms, and the fact that her dance card was full did not help matters. Lady Maybury was chatting with lively animation to a group of elderly ladies, and looking very pleased with the fact that Kathryn had not yet been off the dance floor. Parson John Andrew, who had a keen interest in lepidopterology, was describing to Kathryn in some detail the differences between the
Red Admiral as compared to the Blue Butterfly, a feat to be much congratulated as they were engaged in dancing a robust Scottish reel at the time. The tempo of the music increased, urging the dancers to skip faster, twirl their partners with more force. Reverend Andrew’s face grew redder, and his breathing more laboured. Sweat dribbled down his cheeks and chin. By the end of the dance both Kathryn and Reverend Andrew were much relieved. The gentleman mopped at his brow with a large white handkerchief before setting off to fetch two glasses of lemonade for the delightful Miss Marchant and himself.

‘Kathryn?’ The woman’s voice inflected with surprise. ‘Is that really you? What a surprise to find you here, my dear.’

The skin on the back of Kathryn’s neck prickled. It was a voice she knew well, and one she had not thought to hear in this part of the country. She looked up to meet the cold blue eyes of Anna Marchant. ‘Aunt Anna, the surprise is mutual.’ Then, as Lottie stepped from behind her mother, ‘And Cousin Lottie too. I had not thought to meet you both here in Brighthelmstone.’

The harshness in Mrs Marchant’s eyes faded and she looked almost contrite. ‘Our visit is not one of pleasure,’ she said in a hushed tone. ‘It is Mr Marchant…’

It seemed to Kathryn that her aunt was smaller than she remembered. ‘What of Uncle Henry?’

Mrs Marchant swallowed, and compressed her lips as if trying to control some strong emotion assailing her. ‘He…’

Guilt and concern pricked at Kathryn’s conscience. She noticed the pallor of her aunt’s face as she waited for what was to come.

‘He has taken an inflammation of the lungs.’ Mrs Marchant clasped her perfectly manicured hands together and held them to her mouth. There was a suspicious sheen about her eyes. ‘The doctor is not optimistic. He said…’ Her eyes squeezed momentarily closed, and, when they opened again, there was in them a vulnerability Kathryn had never seen before. ‘He said that clean sea air was our best hope. Hence I brought Mr Marchant here with all haste.’

Lottie clasped at her mother’s hand and let out a little sob. ‘Poor Papa.’

‘It came on so suddenly,’ said Mrs Marchant. ‘One minute he was fine and well, and the next…’ She glanced anxiously at Kathryn.

‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘He insisted that I bring Lottie here tonight. Was so adamant that I dared not refuse him for fear of bringing on another coughing fit. We will not stay long and then we will get straight back to him.’