The Belligerent Miss Boynton AND The Lurid Lady Lockport (Two Companion Full-Length Regency Novels) (51 page)

Never had anyone roused him to such joy, such passion, and, yes, even such anger. More and more, every day of this past month, his wife had invaded his heart, his mind, his very soul. And he hadn't even noticed it happening.

He had always avoided entanglements, choosing his friends carefully but then giving them his lifelong loyalty. Only these few trusted friends, men like Jared Delaney and Bo Chevington, were allowed to see beyond the carefully constructed facade of shallow-brained dandyism to the real man who hid behind those misleading outward trappings. In his own way, Kevin was as leery of emotional involvement as Gilly. He had lost too many friends to the ravages of war, had cursed and cried and suffered too many times, and his nonchalance covered a multitude of scars.

Now Gilly had, unwittingly, breached his defenses, and he was without the weapons to prohibit her from completely overrunning the stronghold of his heart.

Still, he thanked his lucky stars that she had accepted their situation without making any demands on him for declarations of affection. It was too soon, his feelings were still too new to allow him to voice them aloud. And what if she spurned him, laughed at his weak-kneed capitulation? He couldn't risk it. Not yet.

But he also couldn't force himself to keep his hands off her until he felt more comfortable with this advent of love into his life. Fortunately for him, Gilly was ignorant in the art of lovemaking and not likely to recognize the gentle reverence and moments of near desperation he now brought to his caresses as being as different from loveless passion as chalk from cheese.

He wished he had her love, craved it actually, the way a starving man craves food. He tried to content himself for a time with this half-loaf Gilly seemed almost eager to offer, which was her easy acceptance of this new intimacy in their relationship. He would just have to wait. He had no choice but to wait, be patient. Perhaps, in time, her love would grow.

But that didn't mean he couldn't use some gentle coercion. Now, raining light kisses on her cheeks and eyelids, he murmured throatily, soothingly, "Oh, my sweet Gillyflower, you delight my soul. Put your arms around me, beautiful wife, and let me feel your softness."

When Gilly began, hesitantly at first and then with more fervency and less inhibition, to react to his love words, Kevin became bolder, relieving her of her nightgown entirely then quickly discarding his dressing gown.

He worshiped her body, reverence in his every touch, gentleness guiding his hands. In turns submissive, then aggressive, she returned his caresses, his deepening kisses, lifting herself up to him as he at last dared to part her thighs and slide his fingers against her softest flesh.

She came alive in his arms then, her last traces of maidenly shyness leaving her all at once. She kissed his hair, his throat. Her hands pulled him closer even as she raised her hips higher, inviting any intimacy. She trusted him. Her every action, her every capitulation, her every soft moan of ecstasy told him that she trusted him.

That trust, so freely given, and while asking nothing in return, was almost more than Kevin could bear.

He stilled his hand, prepared to stop, prepared to sacrifice his own growing desire in order to allow her time to consider what they were about to do. But she wouldn't let him. Her short nails raked along his bare back as she began to whimper, drawing him back to her.

Kevin could no longer resist introducing her to the full flower of her own passion, of his. He didn't want to resist. He'd have to be a madman to resist. "Ah, my Gillyflower," he groaned in something very close to agony, "you're so young, so warm, so alive. Heaven curse me, I can't—" before crushing his mouth against hers because there was no more need for words.

Together they began to float, then soar, until it seemed there were only the two of them left alone in the world, their bodies locked in an endless embrace as wave upon wave of passion moved them ever closer to the shore.

Gilly cried out only a single time before they were both caught in the whirlpool that took them down, down, down, to end, miraculously, on some enchanted beach where the sun shone brightly and the world looked as it must have done on that First Day—all fresh and sparkling and peaceful.

These two people, with so much still remaining between them to be resolved, had at last found one form of communication upon which they could agree.

#

A sennight passed quite quickly, but not uneventfully. While their nights were now filled with delights neither of them had ever before believed existed, daylight found Kevin and Gilly curiously unable to act naturally with each other.

The servants were gifted, or cursed, with seven days of varying degrees of covert, near, and open warfare between man and wife as they engaged in a continual duel of wits and wills, the trading back and forth of insults threatening to shake the ancient Hall down about everyone's ears. This continual sparring, the advances and retreats, was a camouflage they both employed in order to keep their true feelings, their vulnerability, hidden—but neither of them knew the other's motives mirrored their own.

During this trying time, Lyle and Fitch kept away from The Hall, hiding in the gardens, although these gardens did not seem to be benefiting from their presence.

Willie, the groom, a witness to more than one verbal skirmish at the stables as the newlyweds prepared to ride out together, viewed the situation from his one-sided loyalty and silently cursed the Earl for his misuse of "such a grand, good girl."

Olive Zook hid whenever she could, Hattie Kemp clucked her tongue and punished her bread dough, while Mrs. Whitebread, thanks to her deafness, was almost as oblivious to the mad goings-on as were Aunt Sylvia and Elsie.

Willstone, his loyalty firmly with the Earl on all matters, wrote to his brother in Chichester that "all would be well once they were back in London and shed of that uncivilized savage" the Earl was, fortunately, only bound to tolerate for a mere twelvemonth or less. He now kept his opinions to himself around The Hall, however, as his chin was still tender from the facer Willie had planted when he was once foolish enough to air his feelings aloud.

When he was not busy being totally exasperated by the infuriating chit, Kevin was amused by Gilly's pugnacious attitude that was so at variance with her yielding passion in the bedchamber. It gave him, for one thing, time to adjust himself to the situation between them, as well as delivering a never-ending stream of insights into the complex person who was his wife.

It was not, however, all so amusing or edifying an experience for his wife. Gilly felt herself to be constantly on tenterhooks, her defenses always in readiness for fear she would unconsciously disclose her true feelings, whatever they were, as whatever she was feeling was completely alien to her. She fought a daily battle against her emotions, as she feared Kevin's rejection if she ever let him know how very much he meant to her. Sylvester, her father, for all her declared indifference to him, had always had the power to hurt her, power he recognized and delighted in using whenever she tried to approach him, hoped to make him look kindly on her.

Thankfully, Sylvester was gone.

But now there was Kevin, and he too had the power to hurt her, power a hundredfold more potent than Sylvester's had ever been. So far, Gilly hoped, her husband was not aware of this power.

The question that lay most heavily on her mind all day and kept a part of her heart from him during the long nights was this: if he were to find out he had this power, would he feel compelled to wield it?

As long as their lovemaking was accompanied by overtones of frivolity, Gilly could hide behind their mutual bantering. Just the night before Kevin had commented, after they had made love and were wrapped in each others arms until their heartbeats returned to normal, "What a mutually, if I interpret that soft purring I heard just now correctly, pleasurable diversion this is. As a way to pass the time and engross the mind, I think you'll agree, little Gillyflower, that it has clock collecting beat all to flinders."

Gilly could only giggle. "Indeed, sir," she'd told him. "It would seem to be eminently more satisfying. Now do shut up, please. I've been run ragged all day hunting down Elsie's silver spoon. I ran it to earth at last in the Conservatory, stuck in a dirt-filled pot. I do believe Lyle or Fitch had been using it as a miniature spade."

"Ah, that explains it. No wonder they make so little progress on the grounds, if their tools are that limited. And here I was, thinking they were merely lazy. How shabby I was to so malign them."

Gilly had snuggled more closely against her husband's side. "I wouldn't be so swift to beat your breast in repentance, my lord, for they are lazy. Nearly somnolent. But they are very good at what they do."

"They don't
do
anything, pet," Kevin had forced to point out.

"Precisely," she'd replied lightheartedly, "and they're very good at it!" This rejoinder, she recalled now, had earned her a playful slap that had been the prelude to another "mutually pleasurable diversion."

Gilly was still in the Long Library, reliving the scene in her mind for a second time, when Kevin came in, the morning post in his hand. "Good morning, wife," he said carelessly, his eyes intent on the letter in his hand. She frowned, all her good humor instantly gone, replaced by the cool civility she always employed with him during the daytime hours—right up until the moment he goaded her too far and she began screaming at him like a fishwife, that is.

"Ah, good," Kevin remarked at length, only moments before Gilly knew she'd be goaded into ripping the letter from his hand, so totally was he ignoring her. "Rice, my late father's butler—he retired to Kent some years ago, you understand—has graciously agreed to come to The Hall and assist in creating some order in this establishment. You'll like him, Gilly," he told her bracingly. "He's a crusty old character, but with a heart of gold."

A disbelieving snort was his only answer, the only answer he deserved. After all, the sun was up, and so were Gilly's defenses. And, while she was thinking of the sun—why did it always have this tendency to seek out her husband, this impeccably groomed, dangerously handsome man who seemed to walk in sunlight wherever he went?

Kevin, unaware that Gilly was beginning to chafe under her own comparison of his finery with her near-rags, went on happily, "Rice tells me he's bringing along an acquaintance he met some time ago. A—let me see, ah, here it is—a Miss Bernice Roseberry. Well, that's another problem solved, pet. She'll serve as your dresser."

This statement Gilly refused to acknowledge at all, and Kevin, belatedly picking up on the growing tension in the room, dropped the subject after informing Gilly the two would be traveling post and should arrive at The Hall within the week.

Sifting through the remainder of the letters, he stopped, examined a heavy folded sheet and exclaimed, "Oh, ho! Here's a letter from Jared Delaney. You remember my speaking of Lord and Lady Storm, don't you, Gilly? I spent a good bit of time with them at Storm Haven last year until their twins were born."

Gilly remembered. She also remembered how Kevin's eyes had lit from within when he had mentioned Lady Storm a few days after their marriage, and how his voice had warmed when he said "Amanda."

Unaware that Gilly's temper—a shield against the pain of rejection—was rapidly coming to a boil, Kevin thumbed open the seal and began to read. "He jokes that he can't believe I've finally been caught up in some parson's mousetrap. Ha! Sylvester's mousetrap is more like it. Isn't that right, wife?" he joked as Gilly's hands clenched into tight little fists.

"Oh, good grief," Kevin groaned a moment later, his mouth twisting into a grimace of dismay. "It wanted only that. Listen to this, brat," he commanded, then quoted from the letter. "'Amanda has had the happy notion to visit you and your new bride, and Bo and Anne have already agreed to accompany us. The twins have kept Mandy fully occupied these past six months, and I believe some time away from them would benefit her, not as if I could gainsay her decision to visit you if I tried, as you should well remember my sweet wife's determination in getting her own way. I am, as always, alas, putty in her hands. We depart Storm Haven the first of August and should reach you within two days, weather and roads permitting.'"

"They—they're coming
here?
Without being invited? Without asking our permission?" Gilly shoved her fists against her hips. "Well? Are you going to allow that?"

"Gilly, my pet, I have nothing to say in the matter. Not when I've spent many a month sponging off my dear friend's generosity. Well, that's it," he said, tossing down the letter. "Jared does go on a bit on some other matter, but the finer points of field drainage pale before his other news."

He looked around the room, looked at Gilly, his smile slowly fading as he realized the full import of what a visit from his friends entailed. "Good God, Gilly, you're right. How can we possibly have them staying under this roof? The place is so derelict I find it difficult to believe there could be two decent bedchambers other than our own in the entire establishment."

"And you'd be right," she told him encouragingly. "They can't come here. They just can't."
Especially Amanda Delaney
, she told herself.
I'm not yet ready to see Amanda Delaney.
"You'll just have to post them back immediately," she continued as Kevin began to pace. "You'll think of some way to fob them off."

"Oh, really, Gilly? You give me more credit than I possess, because I can't think of a single excuse to keep them away."

Gilly only shrugged, not seeing his dilemma. "Well, then, Kevin, if a lie won't suffice—tell them the truth. The roof leaks, the chimney's belch and clog the rooms with smoke, the place smells of damp and rot—and your wife eats her peas with a knife."

"Ha! As if that would work," Kevin shot back at her. "If I were to be so foolish as to forewarn Amanda of my plight, she wouldn't hesitate to drag Nanny, Aunt Agatha, Tom, Harrow, the twins, and half the staff of Storm Haven clear to Sussex and encamp until she had The Hall completely renovated to her satisfaction. Oh, no, imp. I'll not tell her the truth. I'm not such a cabbagehead."