Regency Debutantes (70 page)

Kathryn shivered.

Anna Marchant’s eyes widened and with fumbling fingers she swung the pistol towards Ravensmede.

‘No!’ Kathryn grabbed for her aunt’s arm, deflecting the pistol’s aim.

A loud bang. Smell of gunpowder. The drift of wispy plumes of blue smoke.

And when the smoke cleared Anna Marchant was lying on her back amidst the filth of the alley, bonnet askew, eyes bulging in terror. The dark figure stood above her, a large pistol trained on her sweating forehead. He crouched lower to look directly into the woman’s eyes and when he spoke it was with that same terrible quiet control. ‘Death can be mercifully quick, Mrs Marchant.’ He touched the pistol muzzle between her eyes. ‘And then again, there are ways to make it slow and painful.’ The muzzle slid down to rest against her collarbone.

‘Please,’ came the high pitched whimper. ‘Please.’

‘Please what?’ he asked. ‘Do it quickly? I don’t believe that the choice is yours to make.’

‘No, don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.’ A sob sounded.

Ravensmede pressed the pistol a little harder. ‘Crying for yourself, Mrs Marchant? Do you think that your tears of self-pity will stay my hand? After everything that you have done to make Kathryn’s life miserable, to hurt her, even trying to kill her, there is nothing that can do that…’

Anna Marchant began to weep in earnest.

‘Save to spare Kathryn the distress of witnessing such an act. She’s suffered enough because of you. For her sake, and her sake alone, I’m prepared to offer you an alternative. England would fare better for your absence, madam. Therefore, you should remove yourself, your husband, your daughter, and the slanderous Mr Silverton to a place overseas with immediate
effect. I’m sure that Silverton can make arrangements with his contacts in the West Indies. So, what is it to be?’

Mrs Marchant whimpered.

‘Speak up, Mrs Marchant. Let us hear your decision.’

‘We’ll leave the country.’

‘Never to return,’ pressed Ravensmede.

‘Never to return,’ repeated a shaken Anna Marchant.

‘I’m glad that we both understand the situation. Make no mistake, if you renege on this agreement I’ll see you hanged for your attempt on Kathryn’s life,’ said Ravensmede, and removed the pistol to his pocket. He rose and walked slowly over to Kathryn.

His eyes scanned her face. ‘Are you all right?’

Words would not come. Her head nodded, never for a minute breaking their gaze.

And then his arms were around her, strong, and safe. He pulled her to him and held her like he would never let her go.

The sun shone from a glorious cloudless sky as Kathryn made her way down the sweeping staircase of the house in Upper Grosvenor Street on Earl Maybury’s arm. She was dressed in a simple gown of cream silk that, with its fashionable high-waist, flattered her petite stature. The décolletage swept low, revealing the gentle swell of her breasts. Tiny shimmering beads adorned the bodice and the edge of the short puff sleeves. Her hair was worn high with the soft curls allowed to drape teasingly down to her neck. Threaded throughout the chestnut locks piled upon her crown were narrow bead-studded ribbons of the palest cream, highlighting the rich red undertone of her hair.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind. Are you sure you can wed such a scoundrel, even if he is my son?’ teased Lord Maybury.

She inclined her head as if deep in thought. ‘To wed Nicholas,’ she said softly, ‘is something of which I thought only to dream.’ Then the strange intensity of the moment was lost. She
laughed and her curls danced. ‘Does he know that you’re inciting me to such rebellion?’

His shoulders shrugged. ‘Most probably—he would expect nothing less.’ The sunlight burnished the silver of his hair. ‘I may be Nicholas’s father, but for today I also take the role that your own dear papa should have had.’ He tucked her hand into the crook of his arm.

‘Yes.’ A sad little smile stole across her face.

‘I’m sure that he would have approved of your marriage.’ He patted her small hand. ‘That is, once he got to know Nick, of course.’

They laughed and stepped from the staircase on to the cool marble floor of the hallway.

Kathryn stopped and glanced at the door ahead of them, the last barrier that remained between her and Nicholas Maybury. Once she stepped beyond it there would be no going back.

‘You plan to keep him on his toes, then?’ The green eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Even though you are but fashionably late, he should have started to worry by now. I never thought to see him so tamed.’

Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward and allowed Lord Maybury to open the door.

He was standing facing the priest, with Cadmount by his side. A tall, imposing figure at the best of times, Kathryn thought she had never seen him look so magnificent as he did today. The ebony coat looked to have been sculpted upon his body and highlighted the snow-white sheen of his neckcloth, shirt and waistcoat. Long muscular legs were wrapped in white breeches. Even his deep dark brown locks had been shaped to perfection. Her heart turned over and she felt strangely shy.

Lord Maybury deposited her by Nicholas’s side and moved back to sit beside the dowager and Miss Paton.

The palms of Kathryn’s hands grew suddenly clammy and her throat dry.

Then the tall figure by her side smiled down at her, and there
was such warmth and tenderness in his eyes that she quite forgot her nervousness and relaxed in his protective gaze. And when the priest asked her what she knew he would, she was able to answer in a clear voice without the slightest hint of a tremor. The ring slid smoothly on to her finger as if it had always been destined to fit there.

It seemed that the ceremony had barely started when she heard the priest pronounce them man and wife.

Nicholas’s hands moved to take her arms.

She raised her face to receive the chaste kiss that would seal their union.

His lips slid intimately over hers with a prolonged passion that raised the colour to her cheeks.

‘Nicholas!’ she whispered in scandalised tones and made to pull away.

He held her tight. ‘It’s quite all right, sweetheart, we’re married now.’ He smiled a wicked smile and shot her a smouldering glance. And throughout the day when he looked at her she could see the promise in his eyes.

When he entered her bedchamber she was standing by the window as if mesmerised by the luminous glow of the full moon. Curls of chestnut hair cascaded over her shoulders, leading his eye down to the sheer cream gossamer of her nightdress and the barely concealed skin beneath. Small bare feet peeped out from under the hem of the nightdress and the slender hands were held loosely by her side. Although he had not spoken, she must have heard him and glanced round over her shoulder. A shy smile flashed at him, ‘Nicholas.’ But she did not change her stance, turning her face once more towards the moon.

Ravensmede felt his loins harden at the very sight of her. He had longed for this night for so long and now it was here, finally, at last. Kathryn was his, his wife, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish, for ever. With determined effort he schooled his passion and moved slowly towards her, until he
stood so close behind her that the cream gossamer brushed the black satin of his dressing gown.

She shivered.

‘Are you cold?’ He touched his hands to her shoulders, sliding them down to capture her fingers.

‘Just a little. It’s this nightdress, it’s just so…’ She blushed and looked back at the moon.

‘So very becoming,’ he supplied, and slipped his arms around her so that her back was pressed full against him. The clean scent of her hair drifted up. Unlike most of the women that he had known, she wore no perfume, but her own sweet smell was intoxicating enough. He lowered his face to the red-brown curls and inhaled. By their own accord his hands crept up to cup her breasts. The soft thunder of her heart raced beneath the small firm mounds and he thought he detected a slight tremble in her body. ‘Don’t be afraid, sweetheart, there’s nothing to fear.’ A kiss dropped to the top of her head.

‘I know,’ she said and, twisting round in his arms, buried her head against his chest. ‘It’s just that there’s something I need to tell you, something I should have told you a long time ago, had it not been for fear and for pride.’ She laid her palms flat against his chest, and gave her bottom lip a little nibble. ‘But when I stood in that alley with Aunt Anna’s pistol in my face, I realised that I had been a coward not to tell you the truth: I love you, Nicholas.’

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’ve known since you turned down my offer of marriage in favour of a more scandalous proposition.’

‘Oh.’ Embarrassment warmed her cheeks. Her eyes held level with his chest. ‘From all that you’ve done for me, I know that you must feel some measure of affection, and…and desire…and I want to tell you that it is enough. It doesn’t matter that you don’t love me in return.’

His thumb and forefinger captured her chin and tilted her face up to his. ‘Some measure of affection and desire,’ he said and moved his lips to hover above hers, ‘goes nowhere near it, Kathryn.’

It seemed that her heart shuddered to a stop.

‘I want you…’ his head lowered to hers ‘…I need you…’ until their lips almost touched ‘…I love you…’ and they shared the same breath. ‘Why else did you think that I went to so much trouble to make you my wife?’

She caught her breath.

‘I love you, sweetheart,’ he said again in a voice that was low and seductive. ‘Completely. Utterly.’

The clear grey eyes darkened to a deep smoky charcoal. A gasp escaped her and his mouth closed over hers.

It was a kiss of longing and of love. A kiss to prove the words he had spoken. A kiss of passion and of need.

The last barrier crumbled. Nicholas loved her. Loved her, just as she loved him. He was her husband, and she was his wife. Kathryn gave herself up to the sweetness of the moment.

Nicholas teased. He tantalised. His hot breath seared the path his mouth had taken, slowly, enticingly, determined to prolong her pleasure.

Beneath the slick caress of his tongue, her lips parted in invitation, offering herself to his touch, his taste. Her palms flattened and crept up and across the broad strength of his back, her fingers sliding on the cool satin of his robe.

His hands skimmed down to her buttocks, the sensual massage a prelude to the grip that pressed her to the hard core of his arousal.

A soft moan escaped her lips.

With shaking fingers he untied the ribbons of her thin filmy gown so that it fell from her shoulders, exposing the pearl lustre of her skin.

Her eyes flickered open and she watched his gaze travel over every inch of her bare body.

‘My love,’ he said and fluttered soft kisses to her eyelids, her cheeks, across her passion-swollen lips down to the pale column of her neck and further. She arched against him as his mouth moved over the softness of her breast, his tongue washing its rosy peak with erotic precision.

Slender fingers threaded through his dark locks, pulling him to her, guiding him to her other breast. Shallow reedy breaths. Her hardened nipples ached with desire. Something fluttered and contracted deep within her. ‘Nicholas.’ She whispered his name, not fully understanding the escalating need. A liquid warmth melted between her thighs as he suckled her taut peaks. Then his mouth was gone.

A tiny sound of frustration, and her hands attempted to guide his head back to where it had lain. But Nicholas had other plans. Slowly, deliberately, he traced a line of tiny butterfly kisses beneath each breast then dipped lower, getting down on to his knees to follow the central line of her stomach, down across the soft plain of her abdomen.

‘Nicholas!’ Her eyes opened wide and round.

The green gaze found hers, and lingered with ardent intensity while his lips slid lower over the smooth silk of her skin towards that most secret of places.

Her legs trembled as his tongue tasted her sweetness and his hands, which had been steering her hips so expertly, gently lifted her and lowered her on to the bed.

He raised his head to hers, their eyes never leaving each other’s for a moment, even when their lips met in honeyed reunion. His long, toned body covered hers, the tight muscles rippling beneath the sheen of sweat that drenched his skin.

Naked and hot, their bodies entwined beneath the silver glow of the moonlight. There was no need for covers, the heat of their passion scorched all that it touched. His low murmurs of encouragement caused her breath to come in short pants. She rose against him, unwittingly rubbing the tip of his heated desire. His fingers caressed her hidden moistness, sliding in sensual circles while his kisses played upon the soft whiteness of her inner thighs. Beneath the laboured breaths he felt the urgency of her need.

‘Nicholas.’ Her arms pulled him closer, until their skin slid together with the moisture of passion. Her lips trembled
beneath his, heavy lids shuttered over eyes in which the pupils were huge and dilated.

He moved to take her then, thrusting once into the heat of her molten core.

A sharp intake of air. The grey eyes opened, stared up into his, searching.

He held still. And then his mouth found hers and indulged in slow deep sensual passion. Between those sweet swollen lips his tongue lingered, then lunged in a steady rhythm until he felt her tension loosen. He felt the first tentative wriggle of her hips, and a deep sensuous smile curved to his mouth. When those slender fingers wove a pattern of delight upon the firm muscle of his buttocks he could wait no longer. His muscles tensed to spiral them both into an ecstasy of oblivion for the first of many times that night.

Sunlight flooded the breakfast room. The Viscountess of Ravensmede smiled up at the tall handsome man by her side.

‘You should not have risen so early,’ he chided. ‘I would not have you tired for tonight.’ His eyes darkened with simmering desire, as he stared down into the face that he loved so well.

She laughed and, for Nicholas, it lit up the room brighter than any sunshine ever could. ‘I promise that I shall not be tired, but what of you, dear heart? I would not want to wear you out,’ and her voice held a husky teasing edge. The blush rose in her cheeks at the boldness of her words.