The Scarlet Bride (13 page)

Soon, the wet cloth was loose. She unwound the cravat from around his neck and tossed it toward the coat. It dropped to the floor a full step short.

“You are free,” she said. “You can release me now.”

He did so without argument and removed his waistcoat. She took it from him and hung it next to the coat.

She watched, fascinated, as he reached for the bottom of his shirt. Several quick tugs managed to do little more than crinkle the material.

“I seem to have difficulty working both my shoulder and fingers.” He closed and opened his hands several times to ease the stiffness. “Gloves do little to keep hands warm when they’re rain soaked.” He wriggled his fingers, then blew into his cupped palms. “They are chilled to the bone.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He was either excessively susceptible to cold, or he was playing with her. The latter seemed likely. But his shoulder had been injured and he could have an underlying sensitivity to cold of which she was unaware. To mock him could be hurtful.

With a sigh, she moved back to tend to the shirt. The linen offered resistance in the wet waistband of his breeches. With determination, she loosened it at his hips. She slid her fingertips under the hem and froze. The texture of his supple skin and the warmth of his body against her knuckles sent a shock through her. Clearly not all parts of him were suffering from the cold.

She couldn’t breathe beyond shallow, uneven pulls. She didn’t look up out of fear of falling into his eyes. She knew the intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on him either. He was tense beneath her hands.

Laura wasn’t about to satisfy her unwelcome desire to caress his skin. She forced herself to finish the task with a forceful jerk. “You should be capable of removing your shirt now, sore shoulder notwithstanding.”

He didn’t move. “I prefer you undress me.” His voice was a soft caress over her skin.

Oddly, she wanted to refuse, knew she should refuse. Yet she stayed planted in place, unable to step away from him or remove her eyes from where the open shirt teased her to look at the hint of bare chest. His was a sensuous draw she couldn’t resist. Curiosity drove her onward and her hands upward of their own volition.

“I should leave you now,” she whispered.

“You should,” he said softly. “It will save us both.”

“And yet…” Her voice trailed off. She was lost in something more powerful than she. Simon would have to end the madness.

With her lips parted slightly, she flattened her palms on his waist and began a slow breathless progression up along his rib cage, the shirt sliding effortlessly as she went. His rippled stomach came into view, and below the shirttail, a thin trickle of fine hair traveled from his navel downward to vanish into his breeches.

“I cannot continue,” she protested. Her words were without bite.

“You can.”

The spot at the juncture of her legs pulsed as she imagined him without a stitch of clothing on, his eyes heavy with desire as he kissed and caressed her eager body.

Losing all sense of sanity, she lifted the shirt, and her gaze went to his firm chest and the sprinkle of fine hair she discovered there. Slowly, deliberately, she splayed her hands open, unable to help herself. His muscles flexed and his breath caught.

Once the shirt was at his neck and his torso fully exposed to her hands and eyes, her body swayed forward and her boldness faltered.

Mister Simon Harrington was completely and truly magnificent.

I
t took several rapid heartbeats for Laura to realize she was a moment away from pressing forward against him. Her body ached to feel his arms around her, his thigh tucked between her legs, her breasts flattened against the broad expanse. He was so sinfully warm, so shockingly male.

Her mouth went dry.

Yet even as she struggled to steel herself from wicked thoughts, it proved impossible not to give his body, in the flickering firelight, a more thorough perusal. Her hands remained where they were, infused by his heat.

“Are you having some difficulty getting my shirt off?” Simon asked, his voice low and gruff.

“If your shoulders were not so broad,” she snapped weakly, and removed her hands, “I might have an easier time of it.” She flushed, realizing she had just offered up an offhanded compliment. Now he knew she’d been admiring his body. “Surely you can help?”

Angry over her lack of control, she cursed herself under her breath and helped him free one arm. He wobbled slightly and stabilized himself by returning the freed hand to her waist.

“A success, My Lady. Well done.”

An exasperated sound escaped her clenched teeth. “I am pleased you are enjoying yourself.”

The hand flexed. “Yes, indeed, I am.”

This time she finally looked up, to meet his heated expression. How she ever found him charming was a mystery. “I cannot believe I thought you a gentleman. I have recalled that notion.”

Simon chuckled. “Certainly you cannot blame me for this. I did not cause the storm, nor did I frighten Horse into knocking me into the stall wall. If you were a kind soul, you would pity me. I am in terrible pain.”

Suspecting he was exaggerating his injury in order to touch her, or for her to touch him, she released a small harrumph.

“Lift your arm,” she commanded. He did so. She placed her hands on his bicep and slowly slid them along his arm from shoulder to elbow, while he pulled the arm downward. Once the entire arm was removed, Laura slid the shirt off his head.

Her mind turned to mush and she might have even moaned just a little bit. The deepest, most female part of her was aflame.

He stood over her, flesh golden in the firelight, his breeches low on his hips, and Laura was helpless to do anything but stare like a besotted maiden.

Embarrassment flared hotly to sour her stomach as she clutched the shirt to her bosom. Oddly, or perhaps not so, Simon appeared completely comfortable with her attentions.

Truthfully, the warmth in his eyes told her he was quite content to have her admiration.

“You would make an excellent valet,” he said softly and reached toward the shirt. Before he could take it from her, he stopped and looked into her eyes. Her heart fluttered.

She handed him the item, purposely brushing her fingertips against his. In the span of less than an hour, she’d not only touched him but accepted his touch without flinching.

“I certainly have become comfortable with you. There will be no repeat of that moment in the meadow.”

“You do not need to explain. I understand—”

“No,” she said. The bond of seduction was broken. “You don’t understand. You can’t understand.”

Laura looked away and walked over to the fireplace. Wind whistled down the chimney and the flames danced. She crossed her arms around her waist and closed her eyes. For the first time since her freedom, she allowed herself to fully remember her months in captivity.

She swallowed, then began her tale. “The abuse started soon after he brought me to London. He quickly tired of my strong will and made it his mission to break me.”

“Laura.” Simon moved up behind her.

“No. Please let me speak.” No one knew the full story of her life. Not even Miss Eva. She was deeply ashamed of her past but felt an overwhelming desire to tell someone, to share her burden. “He took great pleasure in using his fists and insults to keep me cowed. He was a powerful monster. I was unable to flee. I was kept locked in my room. During the few times I was allowed out for meals or walks about the grounds, footmen guarded me. The staff was well paid to ignore my pleas for help. I was a prisoner.”

“And yet he failed to tame you.” Simon’s voice was filled with admiration. “You fled.”

A smile flickered across her lips. “Owning my body is not the same as owning my mind. I knew one day I’d be free.”

Curiosity led him to ask, “Tell me what happened. How did you escape?”

Laura hesitated. It was easy to talk to Misses Eva or Noelle or Sophie. They knew the difficulties courtesans faced. Sharing her worst moments with Simon was much harder. And yet she felt, somehow, he wouldn’t judge her negatively.

“I discovered where he kept the funds for his household accounts. I took small amounts from that cabinet and from his pockets. I believed that he owed far more for what he’d done to me. I hid it away and waited.”

She closed her eyes and memories flooded her mind. “Two weeks before you found me, I overheard him speaking to his horrible friends about an auction. They were too happy, too pleased with themselves, too secretive. This aroused my suspicion. So I spied for several days until I managed to put their veiled comments and whispers together. I then realized the plan was to sell me to the highest bidder—noblemen, slavers, anyone who had the money to bid.”

“Oh, Laura.” He slid an arm around her shoulders.

She leaned back against him and realized tears were trailing down her face. “Men came from all over. They filled the house. He paraded me about as if I were an expensive, ignorant toy, yet always keeping me in shadow. He wanted their curiosity to entice them to loosen their purses.”

“They would fight to have you,” he said.

Laura brushed her cheek against his arm. “The bastard thought he was so clever. His simpleminded country mouse would never figure out his brilliant plan. He became confident. How could I escape with so many men under his roof watching me? So I waited until a moment in the kitchen when the cook’s back was turned and I ran out the door.”

The terror of that year with the earl spilled through her and she cried, her heart breaking. Simon turned her and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face against his chest.

He made soothing sounds and ran his hand over her hair, allowing her to cry away all the abuse, her lost innocence, the fears for her life. He gave her himself, something solid to hold on to, and she clung to his strength.

Eventually her sobs subsided. He held her tightly as she listened to his heartbeat. After a moment, she sniffed and lifted her head. What she saw were the crisp hairs on his chest, which were now very damp. Again. She snort-laughed and lifted her hand to rub the wetness off.

“You just cannot seem to get dry,” she quipped.

Simon looked down and frowned. “I think most of our
encounters involve rain, or tears.” He watched her use her sleeve on the wet patch. When she was satisfied with her efforts, she flattened out her palm and looked up into his eyes.

Touched by his kindness, Laura wanted to tell him how much she valued him as a friend, for friends they had become. But she couldn’t speak, lost as she was in his gaze. The humor on their faces faded and changed into something far more intimate. They were locked together, hip to hip.

“Laura,” he whispered and moved to release her.

She shook her head. “Please hold on to me, Simon.”

So he held her, pressing his mouth against her hair, running his hands across her back, while she sighed and splayed her open palms on his hard-muscled back.

Desperately, she wanted to feel something other than cold misery and pain. So when he pulled back and lowered his blue eyes to first capture her gaze and then drift down to stare at her lips, she rose onto her tiptoes and met his kiss halfway.

The feel of his mouth shattered her body and sent a wave of heat through her bones. He slanted his mouth over hers for a brief teasing moment before pulling back.

“We must not do this,” he said regretfully.

“No regrets,” she whispered and slid her hand around his neck to keep him close. The tiny hairs she discovered at the base of his neck felt soft beneath her hands. “I want you to kiss me, Simon,” she pleaded. “I need you to kiss me.”

He hesitated for no more than a blink before reclaiming her lips in a passionate and searing kiss. Laura’s knees shook as she pressed more fully against him. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss and he plunged his tongue within. Hunger exploded inside her.

Laura moaned deep in her throat as their tongues mated and shivery warmth flooded low between her legs. She arched her body against him, knowing she was likely making a grave mistake, but also realizing that she wanted to feel again. She wanted to know what it was like to be desired, not for brutal possession but for affection and true desire.

She wanted to feel him against her, loving her, if only for this one stormy afternoon.

Laura broke the kiss and reached to ruffle her hands through his hair before moving to cup the sides of his face. She wanted him to see how much she desired him. “Simon, make love to me.” Her boldness shocked even her.

He released his hold and brought his hands up to circle her wrists. He bent his head and looked deeply into her eyes. “Are you certain?”

She nodded. “More certain than I have ever been.”

For a moment, she thought he’d refuse her. He expelled a very long, deep breath. Then he bent at the waist, lifted her in his arms, and carried her, laughing, from the room.

L
aura was certain. Simon wasn’t as much so. He desired her, yes, from her soft mouth, to her silky skin, to her toes. But she had been damaged. How much of this seduction was to erase the other man from her body, and what measure of her eagerness was truly for him?