Silk And Steel Part 14

Some painful emotion flickered in his eyes. They closed for a moment and he seemed to draw inward, collecting himself. When he looked at her again, some of the harshness had seeped from his features. "You were not pretending," he repeated as if he needed to be certain of her words.

"It was different between us that night," Kathryn told him, her mind recalling the scene all too clearly. "You wanted me then. Now you only want to punish me."

For long seconds, he just stood there. When he spoke again, his voice sounded thick and gruff. "Never doubt that I want you, Kathryn. I have since the moment you first stepped into my study. But perhaps it is better this way." Turning, he crossed the room and pulled open the door. "Wife or not, I discover I am not in the mood for an unwilling woman. Besides, an annulment would be impossible should I manage to get you with child."

Kathryn stared at his retreating figure as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Looking down at the tattered remnants of her blue silk gown, her body still trembling with hurt and fear, it occurred to her that Litchfield had achieved his purpose after all.

He had punished her, just as he had intended. He had made her suffer, yet he had left her innocence intact. The vows remained unconsummated. In a year, the marriage would be annulled.

For the first time since her uncle's arrival at the lodge, Kathryn rolled over on the bed, buried her face in the pillow, and began to weep.

TWELVE.

Lucien rose late the following morning, his head throbbing like an anvil against the side of his skull. His mouth tasted foul and his tongue felt swollen, and as dry as an aging sheet of foolscap. When he walked into the sunny little parlor at the rear of the house where breakfast was usually served, the light slashed into his eyes and he winced. Blinded for a moment, he nearly collided with Kathryn, who was just then walking in.

She gasped as he caught her shoulders to keep her from falling and her face went a little bit pale. "My lord, I-I didn't think to see you. You are usually such an early riser." Faint purple smudges darkened the skin beneath her eyes, which looked red-rimmed and swollen.

Guilt trickled through him, and something else he couldn't quite name. She looked fragile in a way he had never seen her, and thinking of last night, he could hardly believe what he had very nearly done.

He cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yes, well, it wasn't the best of nights. I'm afraid I didn't get much sleep."

"Neither did I," she said softly with a glance away. "Perhaps tonight will be better."

Regret made his chest feel tight. He was angry, yes, but he had never really meant to hurt her. Lucien reached out and caught her chin, turned it with his hand. He studied her face with its dark, finely arched brows and innocently sensuous lips, the troubled green eyes that stared up at him with uncertainty.

"Yes," he said softly, "I'm sure tonight will be better." He thought that she might smile at his words of rea.s.surance, but she did not, and a vision of the Kathryn he had seen that first day crept into his mind. Kathryn in her filthy, tattered night rail, facing him with all the courage and composure of a lady of her station. Kathryn beseeching him for a bath.

St. Bart's had not been able to break her. Last night, he very nearly had.

"The footman is waiting to serve our plates," he said, fighting an urge to comfort her, yet wanting in some way to allay her fears. "Why don't we sit down and have something to eat?" She nodded, but she still looked uneasy. Lucien cursed himself. He had never been cruel to a woman, and even the volume of liquor he had consumed was no excuse for the way he'd behaved.

It was this d.a.m.nable hunger he still felt for her. Even now, just watching her skirts sway around her hips as she crossed the room made his body begin to harden. Last night when he had seen her in the sheer blue nightgown lying in the big four-poster bed, he'd very nearly lost control. It wasn't like him. He regretted his brutal treatment, but at least he had an answer to the question that had haunted him.

When you kissed me... when you touched me... it was magic. Her words filtered through like a sweet, soothing balm. Kathryn's pa.s.sion had not been a trick. Her response to him had been as real as his own. She might have played at seduction, but she was no harlot, and she had wanted him just as he had wanted her. The knowledge eased his mind, made him feel less a fool, even though a marriage between them could never work.

They sat down to a pot of hot chocolate and a platter of sugary cakes, which was about as much as Lucien's stomach could stand at the moment. "What are your plans for the day?" he asked, hoping to a.s.suage a little of his guilt, though he'd be d.a.m.ned if he would apologize.

She glanced up, surprised he wished to converse. "I'm not... not exactly sure. I shall read for a while. Her Grace the d.u.c.h.ess ran across a text she though I might enjoy. On the Causes of Disease by a man named Morgagni. She found it in the library at Carlyle Hall and was kind enough to lend it to me."

He couldn't help the frown that settled between his brows. Why she wanted to dabble in such a vulgar pastime he couldn't imagine. If she were his wife in truth, he would certainly put a stop to it.

"What about you, my lord?"

His eyes swung to hers. He was heading into London to visit his mistress, though he could hardly tell her that. He had suffered his l.u.s.t for Kathryn long enough. He meant to take his ease with a warm, willing female, and the sooner the better. "I've business to attend in London. I won't be back till the end of the week."

If she was sorry he was leaving it didn't show, and for some strange reason the notion annoyed him. "I'm certain you'll be able to entertain yourself while I'm away-unless of course you wish to go with me," he added just to be perverse, knowing after what happened last night she was certain to refuse.

"I-I'm sure I would just be in the way," she said, with a quick glance out the window.

He took a sip of his chocolate, felt his stomach roll, and set the cup back down in its saucer. "Perhaps you're right. At any rate, I shall see you upon my return."

She said nothing more, and a few moments later, he excused himself and left her, making his way out of the breakfast parlor and heading upstairs to instruct his valet to pack a valise for his trip. He could nap in the carriage, sleep off the pounding in his head, and once he got to Anna's, he could take his pleasure. Anna Quintain was as skillful a lover as she was beautiful, and he intended to ride her hard and often, till he drove all thoughts of Kathryn away.

He was certain it would work. It always had. The easiest way to get over his l.u.s.t for a woman was to replace that woman with another.

It was exactly what Lucien meant to do.

Standing at an arrow slit that now served as a window in the Great Hall, Kathryn's favorite room in the castle, she watched the marquess climb aboard the Litchfield carriage. Her heart beat dully. As he rapped on the top with his silver-headed walking stick, instructing the coachman to make way, she felt a painful yearning in her breast.

It was unseemly for a bridegroom to abandon his wife the day after the wedding, but Lucien didn't care. There were no pretenses where this marriage was concerned. Considering it would be over in less than a year, it was probably better that there weren't.

Still, even after his treatment of her last night, she felt sad and lonely without him. She was no longer afraid of him. As angry as he was, the marquess hadn't hurt her. And this morning she had seen the regret in his eyes.

She tried to tell herself it was better he was gone, that perhaps she wouldn't feel that painful ache in her heart every time she saw him. Perhaps she wouldn't remember how incredibly virile he had looked when he had come into her bedchamber with his black hair mussed and his shirt undone, how, just for an instant before she'd seen the hard look on his face, she had wanted him to make love to her.

Kathryn walked over to the huge stone hearth, big enough to hold five grown men. She remembered the pride in Lucien's voice when he had spoken of the castle, telling her how Edward III had gifted it to his ancestors for valor in service to the king.

She wondered what he was doing in London and part of her regretted that she had not gone with him. She missed him already, and if she had gone to London, she could have visited little Michael. Just the notion of returning to St. Bart's made her stomach roll with nausea, but she would have done it for Michael.

A dozen times since her escape from the madhouse, she had thought of the towheaded child. In the days that had followed, with her own life at risk, there was nothing she could do to help him. Now that she was free, her determination had begun to grow.

Though Michael had survived at St. Bart's the seven years since his birth, she couldn't stand to think of him living in that terrible place as he grew up. She wished she could go to Lucien for help, but after the trouble she had caused, she could hardly ask him now.

More and more she struggled with the problem of how she could help the child and prayed that until she did, he would be all right.

She thought of Michael and tried not to think of Lucien, tried not to wonder if the desire she had seen in his eyes last night would be satisfied by some other woman.

Sitting on a lavender satin chair in the corner of the frilly purple and white bedchamber of the town house he had let for Anna Quintain, Lucien took a sip of his brandy and propped a booted foot on the lavender satin ottoman in front of him.

For an instant, Anna frowned, then her smile fell back into place. "Make yourself comfortable, my lord. It won't take a moment for me to finish changing."

His eyes took in her voluptuous curves, the long, pale blond hair she had freed from its pins and allowed to stream down to her waist. "Take your time," he said, swirling the liquor in the bottom of his snifter. "I'm content just to watch the show."

Anna laughed at that, a throaty, seductive sound that slipped over a man like warm, clear honey. He had heard it before, of course. Until now, he had never noticed how false it rang.

He watched her movements as she propped a shapely leg on the bench at the foot of the bed to remove her silk stockings. The rest of her garments were mostly gone, her hat and gloves, her plum silk gown and whalebone panniers. Only her corset and chemise, stockings and garters remained.

Once those were gone, he would feast his eyes on the her rose-tipped b.r.e.a.s.t.s and the thatch of pale hair at the juncture of her legs. He was already aroused. As he watched her bare more and more of her smooth, unblemished skin, he could feel his shaft hardening uncomfortably inside his clothes.

His body had needs and Anna Quintain could fulfill them. It was his mind that was having a problem.

Lucien watched her remove her lacy satin garters, strip away her stockings one by one and toss them over a chair. He waited as she crossed to where he sat and turned around so he could unlace the corset that thrust up her plump white b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He did so with less antic.i.p.ation than he had imagined, then waited as she slowly stripped away her embroidered chemise.

She was naked and he was hard. His body wanted to take her, to satisfy its l.u.s.t as it hadn't been able to do for weeks.

His mind thought of Kathryn and rebelled at the thought.

Lucien swore a silent oath, hating Kathryn Grayson in that moment, wishing he had never laid eyes on her. When he had married her, it never occurred to him he would feel guilty for bedding another woman.

It never occurred to him he wouldn't really want to.

Anna smiled in that teasing way of hers, moving the small black patch on her cheek. "Come, my lord. Let me help you undress." Anna reached for his hand, urging him up from the chair.

He rose in the hope she could stir his interest as well as his body, but the moment she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him, pressing her pendulous bosom against his chest, he knew that hope was lost. Her breath tasted faintly of mutton and wine, and her heavy perfume engulfed him. He cupped a breast but it felt too full, too weighty, and he thought of another, smaller, more delicate, perfectly formed to fit his hand.

Her tongue slid into his mouth with practiced skill, and he thought of Kathryn's tentative, innocently seductive kisses that night at the lodge. When you kissed me... when you touched me... it was magic. When Anna reached down to cup his fly and began to ma.s.sage him, he swore another silent oath and pulled away.

"My lord?"

"I'm sorry, sweeting. This isn't going to work. Not tonight." Or any night in the future, he inwardly added. Whatever pleasure he'd once found with Anna Quintain was apparently gone.

"I apologize, my lord, if I have done something to displease you. If you'll just give me a moment-" She reached down to stroke him again, but he turned away, his groin still hard and throbbing.

"It's nothing you've done, Anna. At present, I simply have too much on my mind." Anna looked genuinely upset. It was the first real emotion she had shown since his arrival at the town house. Turning away from her, he reached for his waistcoat, drew a pouch of coins from the pocket, and set them on the dresser. "Buy yourself something pretty to wear for the next time I am here."

It was a small lie, since he wouldn't be returning, but it would save them both embarra.s.sment In the morning, he would send word to his solicitor, have Nathaniel settle a reasonable sum on her and end the arrangement.

He was surprised to feel a trickle of relief.

He told himself it wasn't because of Kathryn. Anna Quintain simply didn't interest him as she had before. He would visit Madame Charmaine's Pleasure Barge and find a woman who did.

Lucien set his jaw as he stepped out onto the porch of the town house. He was lying to himself and he knew it. The woman he wanted was living under his very roof, sleeping down the hall from the master's suite at Castle Running. The trouble was, once he bedded her, he would be stuck with her.

Lucien clenched his teeth so hard a pain shot into his jaw. Kathryn Grayson was the last person he wanted for a wife, the very sort of woman he had sworn never to marry. For a few nights of pleasure, he would face a lifetime of h.e.l.l with a willful little baggage so outrageous in her pursuits she had wound up in a madhouse.

A woman, forG.o.dsake, who had cut up a human body to discover the way it worked! What sort of a woman would attempt such an abomination? What sort brewed potions and read books on disease and gunshot wounds? Whatever sort it was, it wasn't the sort he wanted.

What he wanted was a sweet, docile wife like Allison Hartman, a pretty bit of fluff who would obey his commands and bear him half a dozen children. In less than a year he would be free to find another such woman. All he had to do was stay away from Kathryn, and in a short time his life could be put back in order. His plans to marry and produce an heir could go forward exactly as he had intended.

He would do it, he vowed. How hard could it be to resist one slender woman?

From her upstairs bedchamber window, Winifred Montaine DeWitt watched her nephew lead his tall black stallion to the front of the stable and hand the reins to a groom. After a brief sojourn to London, he had returned to the castle more restless and withdrawn than he was before. He had been riding every day, inspecting his properties, visiting his tenants, spending his evenings at the Quill and Sword Tavern in the village.

Winnie knew the reason, of course. Lucien was a normal, virile man, married to a young and beautiful woman. He wanted to make love to her.

The problem was he refused.

Winnie let the heavy green velvet curtain fall back into place, turned and crossed the room. She was determined to speak to him, to try and talk some sense into his stubborn head. Out the door and down the hall. She had almost reached the bottom of the stairs leading into the entry when the front door opened and Nathaniel Whitley walked in.

Winnie paused on the stairs to watch his graceful movements as he removed his tricorne hat, handed it to the butler, and swept off his heavy woolen cloak.

When he glanced up, he saw her and smiled. "Lady Beckford. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"You're looking well, Nathaniel." And impossibly handsome, she thought, with the silver sparkling in his coffee-brown hair and a look of appreciation in his eyes. They were the same summer-blue she remembered, though now tiny laugh lines crinkled at the corners. He had been such a serious youth. She wondered if the man he'd become had learned to laugh at the oddities of life.

"I'm here to see your nephew. I've started the procedure to secure Lady Litchfield's inheritance. I believe the marquess is expecting me."

"I saw him ride in. I'll have Reeves tell him you are here. In the meantime, why don't you wait for him in his study?"

Nathaniel made a faint bow of his head and she led him down the hall. Once they were inside the dark, wood-paneled room that smelled faintly of candle smoke and aging leather, she moved to the bell pull and rang for tea.

"Lucien should be here any moment. Make yourself comfortable until he arrives." She started for the door, but Nat's voice stopped her.

"I don't suppose you would be willing to keep me company until he gets here?"

A flush rose into her cheeks. She shouldn't. Nat Whitley was far too attractive. "All right," she heard herself say, and inwardly she winced. Nat waited while she took a place on the sofa, then sat down across from her in a deep leather chair.

"How long has it been, Winnie? By my calculations nearly twenty years." Almost twenty-one, she thought. She would never forget the last time she had seen him. The day her father had denied Nat's suit and decreed she marry Richard DeWitt, a wealthy viscount more suitable to her station as the daughter of a marquess.

"It seems forever, doesn't it? In those days we were so young."

"You're still young, Winnie. You look more like a girl than the woman you have become." Winnie glanced away, trying not to be flattered by his words, fighting not to look nervous. All the while he watched her, his eyes so blue and intense. It did odd things to her insides, made her want to run from the room.

Made her want to stay right where she was.

He had a way of looking at her that made her remember the past, the days when she had been a foolish young girl who'd believed she was in love with him. Twenty years later, those bright blue eyes still created all manner of havoc, made her feel that same sweet stirring in her blood that she had felt as a girl.

The tea arrived, but Lucien didn't. Winnie poured and handed Nat a cup, then poured one for herself.

"I've been thinking about you," Nat said softly. "I've thought of little else since I saw you the last time I was here."

Something tightened in her stomach. Her teacup clattered as she set it down in the saucer. "As you said, we haven't seen each other in a good many years. I suppose it's only natural you would be curious about me."

Nat frowned. He uncrossed his legs and set his cup and saucer down on the table. She couldn't help noticing the fine muscles in his calves beneath his white silk stockings, the breadth of his shoulders in his tailored brown wool coat.

"That isn't what I meant," he said.

The heat returned to her cheeks. The conversation was growing highly improper. "What do you mean, then, Nat?" She hoped she had misunderstood. In their younger days, they'd thought they were in love, but that was years ago. Since then he had met and married Emma Hanson. They had at least three grown children, probably even grandchildren.

"I mean that I would very much like to see you. I realize what I'm asking has caught you off guard. I'm sure there would be problems in doing so, but-"

Winnie came to her feet, her face hot with indignation. "You overstep yourself, Mr. Whitley. I realize there was a time we meant a good deal to each other, but that was long ago." Before you were someone else's husband. "If you think I am interested in any sort of relation with a... with you, you are very sorely mistaken."

Nat clamped his jaw. He made a curt inclination of his head. "Then I beg your pardon, my lady. I am sorry if I have offended you." But he didn't look sorry at all. Instead, he looked angry.

Winnie ignored the way those accusing blue eyes made her feel. "Good afternoon, Mr. Whitley. If you will excuse me, there are matters that need my attention." Stepping out into the hall, she closed the door behind her, feeling as if a heavy weight had settled itself on her chest. Nat had always been a man of the highest morals. At least she remembered him that way.

Once she'd believed she was in love with him. Perhaps she still imagined he was the gallant hero she had thought him then-instead of the unconscionable rake that he had become.

Lucien stood at the rear of the stable, watching Kathryn and a groom ride out across the fields toward the woods. In the past two weeks, she had taken up riding late in the morning, heedless of the dampness or the frosty chill in the air. Last night a thin layer of powdery snow had fallen over the landscape, making the tracks of the horses' hooves clearly visible in the light coating of ice.

"Saddle Blade," Lucien said to Bennie Taylor, returned now to his job as a groom. "I've an errand to run in the village. I believe I shall take the shortcut through the forest."