The Delicate Matter of Lady Blayne (40 page)

“Of course you did.”

“I couldn’t love him.” Her voice went very small. She swallowed hard, fighting back a fresh torrent of tears without success. “He wanted for us to run away to America. He said he had an uncle there. He said he could never provide me with luxury but that I wouldn’t know hardship either. I-I was tempted. Not because of him, but because I longed for freedom. But I could no’ love him.”

James made another of those soft, soothing murmurs.

“I think…that second time, I think I allowed myself to grow careless in meeting him. I wanted to be caught so the misery of failing him would be over. So he wouldn’t be there to beg me to love him, to beg me to run away. He became not a comfort but an accusation of every failing I had. I began to understand why Freddy grew to hate me.”

“Did you begin to hate Chapman?”

“No, oh no, I could never hate him. I hurt so badly for him after we parted. I grieved for him, maybe harder than I grieved for anything or anyone in my life. But that’s not love, is it?”

“No, it’s not.”

“I am wicked, heartless.”

“No, you’re not. You’re simply human.” James’ voice sounded oddly strangled.

Holding her waist, he slowly shifted her weight, pulled her up until her face rested against his chest. She listened to the steady beat of his heart and he pressed his lips to the top of her head. A long time passed. Her legs were numb from lack of moving.

“Why couldn’t you love Chapman?” he asked, at length.

Because I loved you. Because I have loved you since that night in the gardens at Landbrae.

Her heart pounded at the realization.

She had been too scared to allow herself to admit her love for James. She had sensed the truth he kept trying to tell her.

Blayne blood ran cold.

The Blaynes knew only how to buy or coerce love from others. They knew damned little about returning love.

She had been too scared to let herself admit her love, even to herself. Even to feel her love properly, because all along she had known, with a woman’s knowing, that it would come to this. He demanding everything from her whilst holding her a ways away, keeping his own heart protected.

He was afraid, but not of scandal.

He was afraid of love.

That realization was the most frightening of all, for she had reached the point of no return. She would love him all her days, no matter.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

James sat there, feeling as though his whole body had turned to stone. Frozen to solid ice. Catriona and her confessions! They would be the undoing of him. His body was stone but his heart burned with compassion for her, just as though it had been he who had suffered.

Well, hadn’t he?

Didn’t he suffer at this very moment?

He no longer loved Catriona, yet he felt so much of her pain. Whenever she was near, his heart beat in time with hers, feeling every single nuance of her every emotion.

When he wasn’t with her, he worried over her. Longed to be near her again just in case she needed his comfort.

But as Catriona had duly pointed out, that wasn’t love.

He hated himself for these thoughts. She wanted love; she had just expressed a dire need for it.

But he would never love her again.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to allow her to leave so that she might find someone who would love her, someone she could love, unlike Mr. Chapman.

Though he still had his doubts about the honesty of the footman’s motives in seducing her. He was sure the Englishman had just wanted to use Catriona’s lovely body for gratification.

Is that because you compare him to yourself?

She whimpered and he became aware of her again, too aware of her luscious, curvy figure in his arms. He pushed the disturbing self-accusation down and realized that she must be cramped there, curled up against him. He urged her to move and she cried out.

He transferred her to the bed and began to massage her feet and calves.

“Ah!” she cried, as the feeling must have been returning to her limbs.

“Sorry, love,” he said.

He worked her legs until she was lying passive. Then he  fetched his valise and rummaged through the contents until he found the bottle of jasmine oil. He returned to her and rolled her over and applied a generous coat of oil to her bottom.

Her breathing slowed and deepened.

He felt the loss of her company and  bent over her, brushed her hair off her nape then placed his lips to her flesh, giving her the softest of kisses. He continued to massage the oil into her skin, moving slowly up her back to her shoulders, her arms. In the moonlight, her oiled skin glowed like fine porcelain, and her hair was a thick curling mass of silk that fanned out on her right side on the pillow.

He wished he might commission someone to paint her portrait just like this. But that would require another to see her like this. Unless he might find a lady painter somewhere. He wondered…

She moaned low and rolled partway away from him in her sleep.

He settled himself beside heron the bed and reached around to cup her breast. He couldn’t help but lightly squeeze its firm yet pliant texture. She was a magnificent woman. His erection swelled, pressing against her buttocks.

She’d come here to be made love to.

Carefully, he rolled her onto her back and he began to kiss her breasts. To stroke her belly, trailing his fingertips lower and lower by gradual degrees. By the time he kissed her stomach, she murmured softly, clutching his hair.

He wanted to go lower.

But he remembered what had occurred the last time he had tried that, and he didn’t want this moment spoiled by any friction or memories of Freddy.

He let his fingers stray between her legs, lightly brushing her mons, waiting until her hips began to arch. Then he delved into her cleft. Wetness flowed against his fingers and he slid inside. She clenched on his digits, arching her hips again and moaning low. He stroked his thumb over her nub until it grew erect and beat an urgent tattoo against his touch.

He kept his pace unhurried, stimulating her, listening to her moans and her gentle pleas. Stopping when she came close to her release, then slowly building the tension again, repeating that three times before finally letting her come. Letting her come, and watching her body arch and writhe, watching her toes curl as a rosy, lacy flush spread over her beautiful breasts.

“James! James!” she cried, reaching for him, clutching his shoulders. Then she pressed her palms to his chest, sliding down, down to his stomach.

He sucked in his breath as his abdominal muscles went tight. Fire jolted into his loins, making him harder than ever.

She was moving far too slowly. He roughly grasped her hand and, rather roughly, and dragged it down to his erection.

She curled her hand around him, her flesh soft, warm. He flexed his hips and groaned at the hunger her touch provoked. He pried her hand from himself then rose above her, parting her legs with his bent knee. He put his hands under her buttocks then lifted her hips. A moment later, he thrust into her depths.

God.

She was hot, wet, tight.

He gritted his teeth against an urge to thrust and thrust as rapidly as he might and come immediately. She gasped and her flesh clenched around his. He groaned. She fit him so perfectly.

He rose to look at her, and he took her hands from his body and pulled them above her head and held them there. She moaned, louder this time. He moved within her, adjusting his body until he was sure his lower abdomen brushed her mons and the tip of her nub, and then he moved his hips in slow, slow circles.

She gasped and writhed.

He held her firmly and continued the motion. Her body began to tremble, and he could feel her channel drawing tense, clenching more frantically on his cock.

With another woman, he might have demanded that she not come until he gave her permission. But with Catriona, so long denied the freedom of release, he had no taste for exerting that much control over her. He wanted her to come frequently and to come as hard as she could. He wanted to spoil her with pleasure.

Her flesh spasmed and rippled around his, and he clenched his jaw against the urge to spill his seed. Then he waited until her body calmed and her breathing evened out somewhat.

He began to move within her again, unable to keep from increasing his pace this time. Though her next crisis he found it harder to remain in control. He clenched his jaw. Sweat poured from his body. He actually shook with the effort. Then he plunged into her, fucking her in earnest, driving her to a third powerful climax. She arched and writhed and on instinct he lowered his head and covered her mouth with his, swallowing her cries.

Afterwards, he lay beside her, stroking her dampened hair off her face. “Cat, Cat,” he said between pants.

She was still gasping for breath. Eyes closed tightly, her eyelids shadowed purple. Sweat dotted her brow.

She had never looked lovelier to him.

“You are perfection.”

It had been perfect.

She breathed with him. His heart beat in time with hers. He had the sense of being as close to her as though she had come under his skin and joined with him in spirit as well as body. Before, he’d been but half-alive, barely breathing. He’d been  numb, cold, unable to feel.

Dead.

Now she breathed for him. Her feelings warmed him. Gave him life. Enabled him to soar.

The irrational notion filled him with amusement , even as his spirit continued to soar with an elation that held an unbearable but bittersweet edge.

It would be the last time he could make love to her for quite some time.

How would he live without her breathing for him?

****

Upon their arrival in London, James had moved Sunny and Ailise into a small but luxurious house on the western outskirts of the huge city, a little farther out than a place called Chelsea. But not so far out as to be too unfashionable. She could only be grateful, for she had seen the grayish cloud that enveloped London. She’d had quite enough of city life in Edinburgh.

Soon the dressmakers came, taking measurements for her and Ailise. A small fortune’s worth of clothes had been ordered.

Today, James’ doctor was due to arrive.

This was something she had dreaded but had agreed to in order to please James.

To ensure that he felt he had done everything he could for her.

But she wouldn’t see the man without James present.

Now James paced the parlor as they waited.

She knew it took time out of his day for him to travel all the way from Mayfair. She knew she was a small part of his life.

He had told her.

He had shown her by leaving her in the house.  Settled her, as he had called it. They then had communicated only through letters.

He had given her leave to touch herself in bed at night.

He had no need for her now. No need to master her or to have her save her sexual energies for him.

But he had come to see to her welfare.

Let me care for you, Catriona.

His words echoed in her mind.

He cared for her.

But he did not love her.

Our blood runs cold.

Blayne blood.

She shivered.

As though his senses were acute enough to perceive her shiver, he turned from the window. His dark brows drew together tightly. “You’re cold?”

“A bit.”

“You’re nervous.” It was a statement not a question. He went and tugged on the bell pull. “I’ll call for tea and a wrap for you.”

She shook her head. “I am not hungry. I don’t want tea.”

“You should have something warm and sustaining if you are cold.” His gaze sharpened. “You look pale. Have you been sleeping well?”

She knew from his tone that he was really asking if she had been having nightmares. She didn’t want to answer. Yes, she’d had some. But what matter was it of his? He wasn’t really a part of her life now. She couldn’t even let herself imagine that he would be here for her.

She must learn to cope with these things on her own.

He approached her then stood looking down at her coolly. Impersonally.

Her chest tightened. Her eyes burned. She blinked, hard.

He put his hand beneath her chin, touching her lightly. “You still belong to me.”

Did she?

Would he take her upstairs? Would he ask her to service his needs? Would he soften to her and become her tender lover again?

“You must take care of yourself.” He tightened his hold. “Or else I shall be forced to hire someone to assure that you do.”

“A keeper?” She tried to flinch away but he held her fast.

“If necessary.”

“Like Mrs. Tibbs?”

His eyes flashed and he compressed his lips. “You needn’t become truculent with me.”

With her heart hammering in her chest, she said nothing.

“You are well taken care of.”

The tightness in her chest grew until she could barely breathe.

“What do you want from me, Catriona? You needn’t sulk like this. You need only ask.”

She would never ask for what she wanted—what she needed most.

Even after having been virtually sold to Frances Blayne by her parents, even after all the things Freddy had done and said, she still had some pride left.

Or was she just finding her pride?

“Ask, Catriona.” He ground out the words. His silver-blue eyes burned with emotion.

But which emotion?

Lust?

Affection?

Concern?

Or was it just ire because she was being difficult?

What had she expected from him? He was an important nobleman. She had known that there would be times when other duties would require all his attention.

But no…she did know those things to be true. But she didn’t know how it would feel to be shunted aside like a—oh God, like a plaything.

Like a whore.

“You’re trying my patience,” he said, his expression hardening.

A knock sounded at the door.

Irritation flashed in his eyes. He jerked his hand away from her chin and turned on his heel to face the door. “Enter!”

The maid came in.

“Bring tea and cakes for Lady Blayne.”

“My lord, the doctor is here and waiting.”

“Show him in.”

“The tea, my lord?”

“Ready it, but don’t bring it until I call.”

The girl bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, my lord.”

She left. James walked to the door then turned back, his gaze burning into Sunny’s. “Do not think that you can manipulate me with any feminine theatrics or sulks,” he said, his voice low but with an edge that sent a chill through her.

So, she was expected not to feel the sting of his putting her aside?

She was expected to be a doll. To wait for his return and to smile pleasantly at his least attention, even when she was close to breaking apart inside?

What had she expected?

He had not lied to her.

But I can’t live with this.