The Spinster's Secret (12 page)

It was a relief when the clock struck nine and she could finally go upstairs to her bedchamber. Mattie sat down at the escritoire and uncapped the inkwell. Tonight, she’d finish the wedding night scene. She
had
to.

But when she stared at the paper, all she could think of were the words her uncle had thrown at her in the library. Tears pricked her eyes. Mattie blinked them back fiercely. It was foolish to be so overset. Her uncle had only spoken the truth, only said aloud what she thought every time she looked in the mirror.

Mattie blew her nose and picked up the quill again.

Joseph applied himself most vigorously to the task of plundering my maidenhead. In my innocence I didn’t know what to expect, and as he forced his entrance into my body, a cry of pain fell from my lips.

Mattie grimaced and crossed out the word
forced
. It sounded too brutal. She tried again.

As the barrier broke . . .

No, that sounded like something to do with construction.

As my maidenhead tore asunder . . .

No, that was too violent. Mattie flung down the quill in despair. She bowed her head into her hands and squeezed her eyes against more tears. “I can do this,” she said aloud. The rest of the chapter was written. All she needed was this one scene. Blood and lost innocence, pain and awkwardness—fused with passion and pleasure.

Mattie blew out a breath and opened her eyes and stared down at the page.
What am I to do?

No inspiration struck.

She remembered the gingerbread hidden in the library. For a moment she tasted it on her tongue—sweet, spicy, rich. Her stomach growled.

Mattie pushed back her chair, picked up the sputtering tallow candle, and let herself quietly out of her bedchamber. The corridor was dark, silent apart from the whisper of draughts.

She tiptoed down the creaking stairs. The long case clock in the entrance hall struck the hour loudly as she passed. Mattie nearly dropped the candle. The flame jerked, almost snuffing out. The notes boomed in the entrance hall, while her heart galloped in her chest and the candle struggled to stay alight.

When the last echo had faded, she set off down the corridor. The library was as black and cold as a tomb. The musty smell of old books was strong. Mattie groped behind Herodotus until her fingers found an object wrapped in a linen handkerchief. She lifted it down and folded back one corner. Several slices of gingerbread nestled inside, dark and dense. The scent wafted up to her nose.

Mattie took the gingerbread to the sofa and curled up on the lumpy, under-stuffed seat, tucking her feet under her. She took out a slice and bit into it. It was perfection. Moist, sweet, spicy. She closed her eyes and chewed slowly, savoring the taste.

She gave a sigh of pleasure, opened her eyes, and took another bite. She was chewing when a shadowy figure filled the doorway, holding a candle.

Mattie inhaled sharply, choked on a crumb, and began to cough.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Chapple,” the person said, stepping into the library. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve come for the third volume of
Pride and Prejudice
.”

Mattie hastily uncurled her legs and sat up properly.

“Are you enjoying it?” she asked when she’d recovered her breath.

“Very much.” Mr. Kane’s face was heavily shadowed, the scars almost invisible. His teeth caught the candlelight as he smiled. “You were correct. It’s a most entertaining read.”

Mattie held out the gingerbread nestled in the handkerchief. “Would you like some?”

“Thank you.” Mr. Kane took a slice and sat across from her in a leather armchair that creaked beneath his weight.

He’d untied his neck cloth, but like her, was still fully clothed. Mattie averted her gaze from sight of his bare throat. It seemed unnervingly intimate to catch a glimpse of his skin.

“What do you think of Mr. Collins?” Mattie asked.

Mr. Kane grinned around a piece of gingerbread. “Clearly based on Mr. Humphries,” he said once he’d finished chewing.

“Isn’t he absurd? So self-important. So foolish!”

They dissected Mr. Collins’s character and then moved on to his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. When the last of the gingerbread was eaten, Mr. Kane sighed, a satisfied sound.

He leaned back in the armchair and stretched his legs out. “I shall buy some more tomorrow.”

Mattie curled her legs under her again. It was cozy in the candlelight, informal and friendly.

“Aren’t you afraid that you’ll lose your taste for it if you have it every day?”

Mr. Kane shook his head. “I shan’t be here much longer.”

Mattie brushed away a crumb on her lap.
I don’t want you to go. You make Creed Hall so much more bearable
.

“Miss Chapple…”

She glanced at him.

“I…er, I couldn’t help overhearing this afternoon. The things your uncle said to you.”

Shame heated Mattie’s cheeks.

“I beg your pardon,” Mr. Kane said. “It wasn’t my intention to eavesdrop. But, Miss Chapple, I must tell you that your uncle is quite wrong!”

“On the contrary, my uncle is perfectly correct. I have nothing to recommend me.” Mattie forced her lips into a smile and said flippantly, “Other than my child-bearing hips, of course.”

“Nonsense!” Mr. Kane said. “You have a great deal to recommend you!”

Mattie’s throat tightened. Tears stung behind her eyes. She blinked them back and took refuge in irony.

“Such as my advanced age,” she said dryly. “And my appearance and my . . .”

“Fustian! You are not at all old! And as for your appearance, I think that you look very well. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t contract an advantageous marriage!”

Mattie shook her head. “When I was nineteen, it was made perfectly clear to me that my chances of marrying well are so slight as to be non-existent.”

“Who told you that?”

“My uncle,” she said. “When he told me that a Season would be a waste of time and money. And he was quite correct. Men like Mr. Quartley are the best I can hope for.”

“Quartley?” He made a sound of disgust. “You can do better than him!”

“In Soddy Morton?” Mattie shook her head. “I am a giantess, Mr. Kane. And quite plain. I’ve been on the shelf for years. In fact, if I’m completely truthful, I’ve never been off it.”

He pushed to his feet, an angry movement. “You are not a giantess! Nor are you plain!”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Mattie reminded him. “And most people would concur with my uncle.”

“Well
my
eye says that you look very well!”

The words hung in air for a long moment, echoing in the shadowy library. She thought that Mr. Kane colored faintly.

Mattie looked away from him. The handkerchief lay alongside her on the sofa.

She picked it up and folded it. “Pray don’t be angry on my account, Mr. Kane. I have plans for my future that involve neither a husband nor Creed Hall.”

“Plans?”

“Yes, plans.”

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of plans?”

“I shall run a boarding house with a friend.”

“A boarding house!” His voice was as appalled as his face. “Miss Chapple, that’s hardly . . .”

“It’s better than Creed Hall,” Mattie said, lifting her chin. “And better than portly Quartley.”

Mr. Kane closed his mouth.

After a moment he said, “Yes, I quite see that it is. But…a boarding house!”

“Boarding houses must be run by someone.”

“Not young ladies!”

“Of course not,” Mattie said, a tart note creeping into her voice. “Young ladies should marry and beget children, shouldn’t they? Well, we both know that’s not going to happen in my case!”

Mr. Kane scowled. “You would be the perfect wife for the right man!”

Mattie’s annoyance with him evaporated. In its place was a flare of awareness of Mr. Kane. She looked down at the folded handkerchief in her lap and doubled it over again, making it even smaller.

“I have always known I should be a spinster, Mr. Kane.” She forced a smile. “Don’t picture me unhappy. In fact, I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to the boarding house!”

Mr. Kane didn’t return the smile. In the candlelight he was a towering figure. The shadowy, half-seen scars made him look quite savage.

Mattie’s breath caught in her throat, not from fear but an emotion she thought might be lust. He was so intensely
male
.

Images flashed into her head—scenes the Countess had described in her diary. If she stood and unbuttoned Mr. Kane’s waistcoat and then pulled his shirt free of his breeches, if she slid her hand up to feel his chest . . . how hot would his skin be, how hard the muscles?

Mattie stood hastily. “Thank you for the gingerbread, Mr. Kane. It was perfectly delicious!”

She headed for the door.

“I must disapprove of your intention to run a boarding house,” Mr. Kane said to her back. “And I’m certain Toby would too, were he alive!”

Mattie froze. Had there been an underlying threat in those words?

She turned back to face him. “You won’t tell my uncle, will you?”

“No,” Mr. Kane said. “But there must be an alternative, surely? Perhaps something that I can assist you with?”

A notion leapt into her mind. A shocking, scandalous notion that came straight from the pages of the Countess’s diary.

“No, thank you.”
The only thing that you can assist me with right now is writing Chérie’s wedding night.

“Miss Chapple, I know it’s not my place, but…if I can be of service to you in any way, then I beg that you let me know.” Mr. Kane frowned, and he qualified that statement. “In any way that does not result in you running a boarding house!”

She stared at him.
Yes, there is a service that you may perform for me. You may instruct me in a certain subject. Teach me what I need to know.

Mattie bit down hard on her lower lip. She felt possessed of a recklessness and a heady sense of devil-may-care, like the time that Toby had sneaked her a glass of brandy at Christmas. She knew that she should say goodnight, knew she should hurry upstairs to her bedchamber and shut the door firmly behind her, but she didn’t. She stayed where she was.

Carpe diem
. Toby’s favorite saying.

She stared at Mr. Kane for so long that at last his eyebrows lifted. “Miss Chapple?”

Seize the day
, a voice whispered in her head.

“Mr. Kane, I have no intention of marrying, but…” Cowardice dried the words on her tongue.

He smiled at her encouragingly. “But what?”

Mattie felt as if she was teetering on the edge of a precipice. Should she retreat to safety? Or step forward to discover whether she would fall or fly?

Carpe diem.

Mattie inhaled deeply and grabbed hold of her courage.

“But I should like to know what it’s like,” she said in a rush. “To have physical congress with a man.”

The smile vanished from Mr. Kane’s face. Blank astonishment replaced it.

Blood rushed to Mattie’s cheeks until it felt as if they were scorching. She was falling, not flying. Plummeting toward humiliation.

Mr. Kane cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

Mattie clasped her hands tightly together.
Carpe diem
, she thought.
Carpe diem
.

“Toby always used to say…seize the day.” Her voice was slightly breathless. “So I am. Seizing the day. Would you…I mean, if it’s not too distasteful for you…would you consider, er…”

The phrase that came to mind was
pluck my virgin flower
, which she hastily rejected. “Would you have intercourse with me?”

Chapter Ten

Edward blinked.
She wants me to bed her?

Arousal flared inside him as his imagination took flight. He saw that tall, voluptuous body naked in his bed. He saw himself exploring those ripe breasts, imagined the weight of them in his hands, the silken smoothness of the skin.

He stared at Miss Chapple, transfixed with lust.

Her blush grew fiery. “If it would be too distasteful . . .”

“Distasteful? On the contrary, it would be…” He couldn’t think of any word to describe how utterly pleasurable it would be.

How utterly reprehensible.

As if she had heard his thoughts, Miss Chapple said, “I realize that my request is quite improper, Mr. Kane.”

It was more than improper. It was so far beyond proper that . . .

“But I shall never marry, and I should like to know what it’s all about.”

He knew exactly what she meant by
it
. Sex.

“So, will you? Please?”

Edward swallowed, torn between propriety and lust. He knew what he
should
do—and he knew what he
wanted
to do.

“I know it’s possible for a man to lie with a woman without making her pregnant, if he can just…just restrain himself until he’s, er…not within her any longer.”

Edward watched her lips move and imagined kissing them. The lust in his body burned even hotter.

“Can you do that?”

Edward nodded and then realized what he’d just done. He shook his head.

Her eyebrows quirked. “You can or you can’t?”

Edward opened his mouth to speak but found his throat too dry for words. He cleared it and tried again.

“I can,” he said. “But I can’t take advantage of you.”

He tried to speak firmly, but even to his own ears, he sounded unconvincing.

“You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me, Mr. Kane.
I
should be taking advantage of
you
.” One corner of her mouth lifted up in a wry smile, bringing a dimple to life.

Edward’s gaze fastened on the dimple, and he knew he was lost.
I can’t. It’s wrong
. But every fiber in his body clamored that it was right, that it was something he
had
to do.

“Your uncle…”

“Will never know. And you’ll be gone shortly. In all likelihood, we shall never meet again.”

Edward stared at her. How could he walk away from a Venus without tasting her delights? He wasn’t that strong. No man was that strong.

He moved without conscious thought, stepping closer to her. His hand lifted, and touched her cheek. Her skin was as soft and as smooth as he’d imagined.

Miss Chapple’s eyes widened. She seemed to freeze, to hold her breath.

“I…” The words dried on his tongue.

“You what?”

He stroked her cheek—and felt an answering fire erupt in his belly. The muscles in his groin clenched, telling him that his body wanted this,
needed
this.

“I’ll do it,” Edward said.

Dimly, in the back of his head, his conscience cried out. This was wrong. Dishonorable. Wicked. But the voice of his conscience was drowned out by more urgent things. The roaring heat in his blood and surging arousal had taken control of him.

He said it again: “I’ll do it. With pleasure.”

…

Mattie undressed in her bedchamber. Her heart beat high in her throat as she stripped out of her clothes. She was afraid—terrified—and yet excited at the same time. In a few minutes, Mr. Kane would present himself at her door, and the question burning inside her would be answered. She would
know
what it was like to be bedded by a man.

She washed hastily, using the icy water in the ewer, and then dressed in her nightgown, a shapeless garment of thick grey flannel. A glance at the mirror told her just how ugly it was, how ugly
she
was.

Mattie turned away from the mirror and shoved the thought aside. If she thought about how she looked, she wouldn’t be able to do this. “Carpe diem,” she said aloud.

She pulled the pins out of her hair and hesitated over whether to plait it or not. What would Chérie do?

Leave it loose.

Mattie brushed her hair until it crackled, not looking in the mirror. She had just placed the brush back on her dresser when she heard a faint
tap tap
on the door.

Her pulse spiked. Dread and anticipation clenched in her chest.

She inhaled a shaky breath. “Come in.”

The dread squeezed even more tightly as Mr. Kane entered the bedchamber, as he closed the door and turned to face her. He didn’t advance into the room. He stood with his back to the door, looking at her.

Her dread was absurd. She’d
invited
him here.

Mattie inhaled another breath. She tried to find her courage, her confidence.
Carpe diem
. But the words had lost their power.

“I…I’m sorry, it smells of mutton in here. Uncle Arthur prefers me to use tallow candles in my room. It’s cheaper.”

She bit her lip.
Don’t babble
.

“It doesn’t matter,” Mr. Kane said.

He wore a dressing gown of red brocade, cut with military severity, and a pair of leather slippers.

Mattie crossed her arms over her chest, aware of how unflattering her baggy nightgown was. The movement drew Mr. Kane’s gaze to her breasts. She saw him swallow. His eyes lifted to her face.

He stared at her for a long moment, as if memorizing her features. “Your hair. It curls.”

“Yes.”

“It suits you.”

“Thank you.”

An awkward silence fell. Mr. Kane didn’t move from the door. He glanced at the bed and abruptly away. She saw the muscles in his throat move as he swallowed again.

“I…uh, are you certain about this?”

“Yes.” She needed to know. For herself. For her book.

Mr. Kane took one step and halted. The muscles in his throat moved again. He was nervous. The realization made some of her nervousness ease slightly.

I can trust him
. “How do we do it?”

“Do it?” A smile almost crossed his face, a tiny flicker of the muscles at the corners of his mouth, at the corners of his eyes. “There’s only one way.”

Mattie felt herself blush. “I thought there were many ways.”

“Many variations. But in the end, it all comes down to one thing.”

She knew what that was.
Putting himself inside me
.

Fear ambushed her. The muscles in her belly clenched. Her gaze jerked away from his. She studied the collar of his dressing gown.

“How…how do we start?”

“Slowly.”

Mr. Kane took two steps toward her. She could touch him if she wished. Absurdly, her instinct was to draw back. Mattie held herself rigid, forcing herself to stay where she was.
You asked for this. Don’t be a coward
.

What must he think of her? A spinster, inviting him into her bedchamber, asking him to bed her.

Mattie couldn’t raise her gaze to his, couldn’t look at his face.

Mr. Kane’s hand brushed her cheek, as he’d done in the library. The breath froze in her lungs.

“We’ll start very slowly,” he said, lightly stroking her cheek.

Her skin tightened and seemed to burn where he touched.

Mattie tried to concentrate on breathing. It was surprisingly difficult. His fingers slid over her cheek, a feather-light caress.

“You have lovely dimples.” He touched the middle of her cheek, a light tap, as if marking a precise location.

The compliment brought a flood of heat to her face.

“Thank you.” It was a whisper, barely audible.

His fingers left her cheek and slid into her hair. Mattie stood utterly still as he stroked the long, loose curls.

“Your hair is beautiful. So soft.”

“Thank you,” Mattie said again.

She still couldn’t raise her gaze to look at him.

“Matilda . . .”

“Mattie.” The only people who called her Matilda were her uncle and aunt.

“Very well…Mattie.” Mr. Kane stepped closer, until their bodies almost touched. His fingers were still laced into her hair. “Tonight, you must call me Edward.”

She risked a tiny glance at him. His face was alarmingly close. Close enough to clearly see the red scars that scored his cheeks and brow. Close enough to see the rich brown of his irises. Close enough to kiss.

He caught her gaze and held it.

“Say it,” he said softly.

Mattie moistened her lips.

“Edward,” she whispered, and then blushed even more fiercely.

He smiled at her. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

No harder than standing still while he stroked her hair. His fingers skimmed past her cheek, her shoulder. Again and again, a slow rhythm.

The heat of her blush didn’t fade. It stayed, burning beneath her skin. She was intensely conscious of him. Her dark, cold bedchamber had become a warm and private cocoon. The only two people in the world were her and Mr. Kane.

Her and Edward.

His fingers left her hair, slid along her jaw, tilted her chin. “If you want to stop at any time, just say so.”

Mattie nodded, unable to speak. Her gaze was caught fast in his.

Edward waited for a moment, as if expecting her to draw back, and then bowed his head and lightly touched his mouth to hers.

Mattie’s heart began to beat hard and staccato in her ears.
He’s kissing me!
She squeezed her eyes shut.

Edward slowly traced her lips with kisses that were feather-light. Time slowed down and sped up at the same time. Each tiny kiss took an eternity to come, was over in an instant, and yet the impression lingered, leaving her lips warm and tingling.

When he’d traced her mouth, Edward didn’t raise his head. Mattie held her breath, hoping that he would do it again. He didn’t, instead his tongue lightly touched her lower lip.

Mattie inhaled sharply as an unfamiliar sensation lanced through her: a quicksilver flare of pleasure that originated deep in her belly. Her eyelids lifted. For a moment she stared at Edward, at his face looming so close, shadowed in the candlelight.

He touched her lip again with his tongue. Mattie trembled and squeezed her eyes tightly shut again.

“Open your mouth,” Edward whispered.

Mattie hesitated for a half-second and then parted her lips.

Edward explored her lower lip with his tongue, with gentle nips of his teeth. Each touch brought another quicksilver flare of pleasure. Heat washed through her, mounting until she felt almost feverish. She swayed toward him and clutched his dressing gown.

Edward pulled her even closer, his hands on her hips. Mattie’s eyes opened briefly in shock. She felt the solid warmth of his body, the hardness of his chest and thighs, the firm grip of his hands at her waist. Her body gave an instinctive pulse of pleasure that she felt to her fingers and toes.

Edward deepened the kiss, entering her mouth. He tasted of gingerbread. He tasted of man.

Mattie tried to kiss him back, tried to mimic his movements, tried to taste him as he was tasting her. Need grew inside her, a twisting, urgent sensation. She lost all sense of time. Perhaps they kissed for five minutes, perhaps fifteen, perhaps fifty. Her whole being was focused on Edward, on his clever, teasing mouth.

When Edward finally broke the kiss they were both breathing raggedly. He didn’t release her. Mattie blinked her eyes open and stared at him, seeing the darkness of his eyes, the flush that colored his face.

“You have a mouth made for kissing, Mattie.” Edward’s voice was hoarse, low.

So do you
.

Edward released her. He took her hand and led her to the bed. Mattie understood precisely how Chérie should feel on her wedding night. Eager, afraid.

Edward drew her to sit on the edge of the bed. He kicked off his leather slippers. The sight of his bare feet, his bare toes, was surprisingly intimate. Mattie’s throat tightened until it was almost impossible to breathe.

I’ll be seeing more than that of him soon
…and with that thought came an intense surge of
want
. She wanted to see him, wanted to touch him, wanted to know what a naked man looked like—and she wanted it more fiercely than she’d wanted anything in her life. And not just any man. Him. She wanted Edward Kane, with his scarred face and missing fingers and smiling eyes.

“Shall I blow out the candle?” Edward asked.

Mattie shook her head.

She swallowed, found her voice, and spoke. “I want to see you.”

The comment seemed to hold him motionless for a moment.

After a pause, he said, “You do?”

She nodded.

A smile lit his face. “Good. Because I want to see you too.”

Mattie was abruptly aware of her size, her wide hips and large breasts, her giant-like proportions . . .

“When I look at you, I think of Venus.”

Her thoughts stuttered to a halt.

Mattie blinked and stared at him. “Venus?”

Edward nodded.

“Statuesque.” He undid the topmost button of her nightgown, high at her throat.

“Voluptuous.” The second button.

“Beautiful.” The third button.

“Exactly how a goddess should look.”

Her face was hot with embarrassment—from the compliments, from the fact that her chest was bared almost to her cleavage. Edward touched his knuckles lightly to the upper slope of one breast, still covered by thick flannel, a fleeting and barely-felt caress. She heard him swallow.

“This nightgown
definitely
needs to come off.”

Mattie found her voice quickly. “You first.”

“Me?” He hesitated for a moment, as if he wished to refuse, and then said, “Very well.”

Edward stood and took a step back. He felt in his pocket, withdrew a folded handkerchief, and placed it on the little bedside table. Then his hands went to the belt of his dressing gown.

He hesitated. “I have scars.”

“I know.” Her gaze flicked to his right ear.

Edward caught the glance. One hand lifted, touched what remained of his ear, as if trying to hide it, a gesture she thought he wasn’t even aware that he’d made.