With This Kiss (32 page)

Brilliant red.

Not dark ruby, not purple-tinted garnet, not warm cherry. Rich, fiery crimson. Shocking scarlet. Yards of the shimmering red silk swirled around Julia as she moved.

Although she had worn the gown for Lazarus, it had seemed to cast a spell over her and Morgan as well. Rather than feeling like a pawn in a madman’s game, she had experienced a strange sense of power and direction. For a while it had been a night of magic. Viscount Trycore’s gala had been not merely a chore to endure but an actual pleasure.

She recalled the way Morgan’s hands had slid over her body with a lover’s touch as he had guided her through dance after dance. The way his eyes had smoldered with smoky intensity as his gaze had locked on hers. The way he had held her tightly and whispered in her ear. At the viscount’s midnight supper, he had even selected the choicest morsels for her to eat.

As a result Julia had glided through the evening in a state of blissful sensual suspense. She had been intoxicated by her husband’s touch, by the candlelight, the dancing, the champagne. Secure in the knowledge that they were taking steps to conquer Lazarus, she had relegated the arsonist to the back of her mind. Her focus had been centered entirely on Morgan. There was something in his touch, some thrilling combination of possessiveness and pride that she had never felt before. She had felt it in the kiss they had shared earlier that afternoon as well — the longing and quiet desperation, the sensation that he wanted her as badly as she wanted him.

There had been a radiant, dreamlike quality to the evening that she thought wouldn’t end. Thus when their coach had drawn up in front of Morgan’s estate and he had handed her down, she had been so certain he would renew the kiss they had shared earlier on the docks that she had almost pursed her lips in anticipation. Instead he had merely escorted her to her bedchamber door and politely bidden her good night.

Even then Julia had not believed that he truly meant to part from her. In time, however, her expectation that he would return dissolved into pure frustration, her light champagne intoxication soured into a dull headache, and her confidence shattered. She relived his every touch, his every smoldering look, his every word, but to no end. Inevitably she had to face the truth. Morgan was not coming to her room.

She emitted a soft sigh and cast a glance at her bed, but that promised nothing but endless hours of tossing and turning. Even if she weren’t plagued by feelings of sheer unrequited frustration, the night was far too warm to expect a restful sleep. Furthermore, the thought of languishing alone in her bedchamber with nothing but her own thoughts to occupy her held absolutely no appeal.

Acknowledging the fact that she seemed destined to gain little sleep that night, she looked about her room for something else to occupy the hours until dawn. Spying a book that sat on a comer table, she went and lifted the small leather volume. A scientific survey. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Deciding to return the volume to Morgan’s library and search for something more to her liking, she left her room and quietly padded down the broad stairway that led to the main floor.

Silence greeted her as she stepped into the room. Beams of silvery moonlight filtered in through the parted drapery, but they didn’t provide enough light to adequately read the tides of the volumes that filled the massive floor-to-ceiling shelves. She lit a small lamp and turned the wick down low, then moved to the bookshelves.

“Decided to join me, princess?”

Julia released a startled gasp and spun around, searching the shadows for Morgan. At last she found him. He sat in a tall wing chair that had been positioned in a far corner. On the table beside him rested a silver tray, a crystal decanter, and a set of squat crystal glasses. Like her, he had yet to change from his formal attire, though he had relaxed somewhat. His jacket was draped over the back of his chair, his cravat was loosened, and the top buttons of his shirt were undone, allowing her a glimpse the dark bronze skin of his chest.

Conscious of having intruded on his privacy, she sent him a small smile and said, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“That makes two of us.”

His tone was neither welcoming nor curt. He studied her face with a watchful gaze, as though attempting to divine her thoughts. She shifted awkwardly, uncertain what to say next. It wasn’t that she necessarily felt nervous, just strangely disconcerted. She had no idea how to interpret his mood — a mood that was so very different from the warmth and intimacy they had shared at Viscount Trycore’s. Remembering the book she held, she crossed the room and set it on the table beside him. “I believe this was mistakenly left in my room. I hope you weren’t looking for it.”

Reluctantly removing his gaze from her, he gave the slim leather volume an indifferent glance. “Birds,” he said flatly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“The book.”

Her eyes returned to the volume.
Staemon’s Complete Ornithological Survey.
“Oh. Yes.” She clasped her hands together and sent him what felt like a patently false, overly bright smile. “Does the subject interest you?”

“Not particularly.” He raised the crystal tumbler he held and abruptly drained it of its contents.

A shiver of apprehension ran through her as she watched him. “Are you drunk?”

“I have had a drink. I am about to have another. But no, I am not drunk.” He splashed a generous amount of amber liquid into the glass he held, then tilted it toward her. “Can I pour you one?”

“No. Yes. Thank you.” She sent him a faltering smile, then crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her hands briskly over her forearms, as though warding off a chill. She took the glass he offered her and drank deeply, then grimaced and shuddered, staring in horror at the contents. “That’s ghastly. What is it?”

“Hundred-year-old scotch.”

“No wonder it tastes so vile. Do you have anything more recently brewed?”

A small smile touched his lips. “I’m afraid not.”

“Oh.” She frowned at the glass, unaccountably disappointed. Yet even as she did so, a relaxing warmth filled her belly, softening the edge of her nervousness. She took another small sip.

Returning her gaze to Morgan, she watched as his eyes moved over her body with smoky intensity, as though committing her every line and curve to memory. “Stunning,” he said. She ran her hand over the brilliant red of her gown. “It’s French.”

“I’m referring to what’s underneath.”

Having no idea how to reply to that, Julia didn’t attempt it. At a loss for any other suitable topic, she abruptly decided to abandon all attempts at pretense and move directly to the heart of what was on her mind. Summoning her courage, she said in a rush, “I’ve been thinking about our bargain.”

“Oh?”

“It seems rather foolish now, doesn’t it?”

“As I recall, you wanted a three-month reprieve.” He lifted his shoulders in a cool shrug, then took a sip of his drink. “Although little else good might be said about me, I am generally reputed to be a man of my word.”

“Indeed. You’ve been very patient. Very honorable, as well.”

A small, cynical smile curved his lips. “Not exactly the words I would have chosen.”

“No?”

“‘Cuckolded fool’ comes to mind.”

Seizing his statement as an admission that the wait might have become as difficult for him as it was for her, she said, “In that case, if you have no objection, I thought we might commence our marital duties.”

He regarded her in silence for what felt like an eternity. “May I ask what brought about this remarkable change of heart?”

Julia’s courage began to crumble. She had anticipated a reaction of gratitude on his part at being released from their bargain, but she realized in that instant how exceedingly vain an expectation that had been. She hesitated, lost in her uncertainty, feeling both embarrassed and profoundly unprepared for the question.

Perhaps she would have been better served to stick to her original decision and give them a full three months to develop a more natural intimacy. Unfortunately it was too late to change her course now. It was all too easy to imagine the shame of fleeing from the room now that she had come this far. But she was determined to spare herself further embarrassment. Therefore, rather than admit the longing that kept her up at night — a longing that evidently went unshared — she searched for a reasonable excuse to abandon the terms of their bargain.

Suddenly remembering the newborn babe they had seen earlier that week at Lord Attmark’s party, she said, “You made it quite clear that you wanted an heir. I hadn’t given the matter much thought until I saw the Earl of Reardon’s child. Now it occurs to me that you’re quite right. There’s no sense in waiting any longer, is there?”

Although the excuse sounded coolly plausible to her own ears, she was surprised to see Morgan’s features darken as an expression that looked almost like disappointment flashed across his face.

“Ah, so that’s it.”

“Don’t you want a child of your own?”

He finished his drink and set it aside, then stood and moved toward her. “Gilding the lily, aren’t we, princess?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You needn’t dangle a carrot in front of me. You are ample lure by yourself.”

Unable to meet his eyes, she fumbled with her glass, surprised to find it empty. Although she didn’t remember drinking the last of it, she suddenly wished for more. Morgan now stood less than an arm’s length away, but still he made no move to touch her. She swallowed hard and released a nervous, tremulous laugh. “It’s funny,” she said.

“What is?”

“I didn’t imagine it would be like this.”

“Like what?”

“This,” she said, indicating the distance between them. “This formal, this stilted. I thought one was supposed to be swept away by passion, as though lost in a tumultuous sea. Not dragged there as though one’s coat were caught beneath the wheels of a railcar.”

Morgan released a shocked bark of laughter. Her words, and her obvious distress, knocked him out of the stupor that had befallen him. He forced himself to set aside his disappointment that it wasn’t him she wanted as much as a child of her own. She had come to him, and that was all that mattered. If the fire had taught him nothing else, it was to appreciate life on its own terms. Every miracle counted, no matter how small.

For just an instant logistics filled his mind. The room was too warm, too harshly lit. While there was nothing he could do about the heat, he had no desire to dampen what little ardor she had managed to kindle for him by subjecting her to the sight of the odious scars that marked his body. He could at least spare her that. Yet while cognizant of his wife’s delicate sensibilities, he did not want to rob himself of the pleasure of seeing Julia naked. In the end he settled upon a compromise position. He crossed the room and lowered the wick of the lamp, leaving nothing but a warm amber glow to fill the room.

Turning back to Julia, he hesitated once again. Like a skittish deer that had picked up the scent of the hunter, she stood poised to flee at the slightest provocation. He could take her upstairs to his room, but he didn’t want to risk having her change her mind before they arrived. The chair in which he had been sitting was out of the question. The rug was undeniably plush but struck him as slightly primitive for their first encounter. At last his gaze lit upon a burgundy velvet chaise that occupied one corner. Although he had never considered the piece with a decidedly carnal purpose in mind, he realized at once that it would serve nicely.

Their ultimate destination decided, he moved to stand before her. He pried the empty glass from her hand and set it on a nearby table. Then he ran his hands along her upper arms, attempting to soothe the tense rigidity he felt in her limbs. She stubbornly avoided his gaze, but Morgan was in no hurry. He waited until she tilted her face up to his, then gently asked, “How do you know that I’m not madly overcome with lust at this very moment?”

She gave a shaky laugh and jerked her head away, but not before he had seen how perilously close to the surface her emotions were. In a choked voice she pleaded, “Please don’t make this worse than it already is.”

“I didn’t mean to.” He pulled her into his embrace, running his hands gently down her spine. As he spoke, her hair brushed his lips, as soft and feathery fine as down. “I’m not normally so clumsy. You took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“I should leave.”

He tightened his hold. “No.”

She hesitated for a long moment, then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his.

“I want you to stay,” he said. “I want you, Julia. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

Searching her gaze, he saw a reflection of his own inner emotions. Angst, uncertainty, desire, and determination were all mirrored in her eyes. But as she had bravely taken the first step in coming to him, it was now up to him to take the second.

He bent and lifted her into his arms. Even that small act brought him pleasure. The weight of her against his body, her slight gasp of surprise as he lifted her, her small embarrassed smile, and the way she locked her arms around his neck and nuzzled her head against his chest. He moved across the room and sat down on the chaise, holding her in his lap. With his hand he traced the soft swell of her breasts, then down to her narrow waist.

Tension filled Julia’s face as she jolted at his touch. Clearly embarrassed by her reaction, she sent him a taut, brave smile. She was bracing herself for his embrace, he recognized, regarding him as though he were a physician who had just shown her the torturous path his scalpel would be taking, rather than a lover who had bestowed a light caress.

A previous conversation they had shared had led Morgan to form the opinion that his wife was no longer a virgin. But her extreme nervous trepidation now gave him cause to question that assumption. Either that, or she viewed her surrender to him as a fate far worse than he had presumed. Beauty succumbing to the Beast. Although the thought sickened him, he understood it.

Deciding not to assume the worst, he schooled his expression to one of polite interest and asked, “Do I frighten you?”