Silk And Steel Part 16

"The door..." she whispered, staring worriedly at the broken latch.

"No one would dare," he said, and it was the truth. He kissed her again, then paused to strip off his shirt. He didn't want to wait, wanted to simply unb.u.t.ton his breeches, release himself, and bury himself inside her; to impale himself and satisfy his aching need. Instead, he sat down and tugged off his boots, unfastened and removed his breeches, then joined her on the bed. When he started to kiss her again, Kathryn pressed a hand to his chest to stop him.

"Are you certain, Lucien? Are you sure this is what you want? If we make love, the annulment... we won't be able to-"

He silenced her with a long and very thorough kiss, kissed the side of her neck, then her ear. "You're my wife," he said softly. "I want you and nothing else matters." Some vague part of him warned him it wasn't the truth, that what happened this night mattered a very great deal, but he was too far gone to care. Instead, he kissed her, stroked her small, exquisite b.r.e.a.s.t.s, slid his palm over the flat spot below her navel and eased a finger inside her.

Kathryn went tense, her long legs closing around his hand.

"Trust me. Let me make this good for us both."

His words seemed to rea.s.sure her. She relaxed a little; and he settled himself between her legs. Stroking her gently, then more deeply, he set up a rhythm that had her squirming on the mattress, her fingers biting into his shoulders.

"Lucien, please, I can't... I don't... don't think I can stand any more."

"Relax, love. Just take it easy." He was achingly hard, his heavy arousal throbbing. He shifted his position and his hardness pressed into the warm, slick flesh at the opening of her pa.s.sage. "Trust me and let yourself go." Gently he eased himself inside, trying not to hurt her. She was wet and hot, and so tight he set his jaw against the excruciating pleasure that threatened to shatter his control. When he reached her maidenhead, his eyes closed briefly in relief. He held himself in check a few moments more, letting her adjust to him.

"Lucien?" Tentative and uncertain, yet her body moved restlessly beneath him.

A hot fierce kiss, and he drove himself home, impaling himself to the hilt. A single, sharp breath came from Kathryn, then she was returning his kiss, reaching up to touch him, stroking her hands over his ribs, testing the muscles and sinews as if she wanted to learn every inch of him.

"G.o.d, Kathryn..." Her innocently pa.s.sionate response drove him nearly insane. He couldn't hold back any longer. He'd been celibate too long and he wanted her far too badly. Dragging his hardness out, he drove into her again. Out and then in, taking her deeply, pounding and pounding, feeling the heat boil up through his skin. His climax loomed near. He teetered on the brink, holding himself in check by sheer force of will, determined to give her pleasure.

When Kathryn arched upward, taking him deeper still, he exploded over the edge. A few more driving thrusts, and her body tightened around him. Kathryn arched beneath him, reaching her own release, her body straining upward like a bow.

Though pleasuring her was exactly his intention, surprise filtered through him. Kathryn had been a virgin, untried and completely naive, yet her body had responded with the pa.s.sion of a seasoned lover. As forthright as she was, perhaps he should have guessed she would enjoy the pleasures of the flesh. Still, it reminded him how different she was from the sort of woman he had wanted to marry.

As the hot sensations faded and his senses slowly returned, he couldn't help wondering what his wedding night might have been like with Allison Hartman.

In the late hours of the night, Kathryn lay awake in her big four-poster bed, staring up at the plaster molding on the ceiling. Her body ached in places it never had before and the soft throbbing between her legs reminded her that she was no longer a virgin.

Lucien had made love to her. He had given her pleasure unlike anything she could have imagined. He had been savage in his need of her and yet he had been gentle. Afterward she had fallen asleep in his arms.

She'd awakened a few hours later, disoriented at first, until she realized exactly where she was and that the man beside her was her husband, that he was also awake and watching her with those fierce black eyes, that his hard length pressed against her, wanting to be inside her again.

Kathryn had turned to welcome him, glad he had made her his wife, eager to experience the incredible pa.s.sion she had known with him before. She was in love with him. She wanted to show him how much she cared, to make up for the trouble she had caused him.

Instead, he turned away, kissed the top of her head, and enfolded her in his arms.

"Go to sleep," he said softly. "You will be sore in the morning."

At the time she had told herself he was simply taking care not to hurt her. Now, staring at the empty place in the bed beside her, she remembered the faint tension in his jaw, the glint of something she couldn't quite read in those black, silver-flecked eyes.

Her husband was gone and worry coiled up beneath her ribs. For hours, Kathryn lay beneath the covers, wishing the dawn would come, wishing it wouldn't. Wishing she could see him, know what he was thinking. Wishing she wouldn't have to face him and remember the intimate things they had done.

Finally, the light of day slipped through the windows, and Kathryn, her muscles sore and aching, dragged her sluggish body out of bed. Choosing a simple burgundy wool gown, she sent for f.a.n.n.y to help her do up the b.u.t.tons, braided her hair and pinned it up, then made her way downstairs. Whatever problems had been created by their rash behavior last night she would have to face, and sooner was better than later.

Kathryn entered the breakfast parlor at the rear of the house, hoping Lucien would be there, but she found only Aunt Winnie. The slender blond woman was staring out the window, her expression quietly pensive, perhaps even melancholy, and Kathryn wondered what it was she was thinking.

She didn't have time to ask. Winnie spotted her and the moment slipped away.

"My dear, you look exhausted," she said with a worried frown. Then she smiled. "Ah, but I suppose that is to be expected. Appeasing the needs of a virile man like my nephew would tax any mortal woman."

Kathryn flushed to the tips of her toes. "How did... how did you know?" Good lord, did she look different somehow? Could Winnie guess the intimate things the marquess had done to her? The things she had done to him?

Winnie just laughed. "Good heavens, my dear, when a man breaks down a woman's bedchamber door, it only stands to reason he has more in mind than simple conversation."

Perhaps that was so, but thinking of the way he had left her, she had the terrible suspicion his goal had not been met. Surely, if she had pleased him, he would have wanted to make love to her again.

Kathryn sat down at the table across from Winnie, and the footman served her, filling a plate with an array of foodstuffs she would never be able to eat. Basted eggs, roast pheasant, a slice of Gloucester cheese, and a piece of fresh baked bread. Kathryn took a tentative bite, but the food tasted like paper in her mouth.

She pushed it around on her plate. "Do you know where the marquess has gone?" she asked in a manner she hoped sounded nonchalant.

Winnie's pale brows pulled into a frown. "Why, I a.s.sumed he was with you... at least until you came down here. Are you saying he did not spend the night?"

"No, he... No," she whispered, barely able to force out the word.

"Oh, dear." Winnie pasted on a too-bright smile that didn't fool Kathryn for a moment. "Well, he probably had important business, perhaps an early meeting with one of his tenants. You know how he is. Everything according to schedule."

But his "wedding night" was highly unscheduled and obviously Lucien was filled with regret. Kathryn tried to force down another bit of eggs but they tasted cold and greasy and stuck in her throat. She shoved back her nearly untouched plate and set her napkin back down on the table.

"I hope you don't mind, Aunt Winnie. I discover I'm not feeling very well. I'm sure it's nothing, perhaps a little too much... excitement."

Winnie smiled kindly. "Of course, my dear. Why don't you go back upstairs and rest? I'll have a bath sent up to your room. Afterward you can nap for a while. I'll have f.a.n.n.y bring up something for you to eat a little later."

Kathryn simply nodded. Her heart beat dully and her chest felt tight. She was more miserable now than she had been before. It seemed every time she tried to make things right, instead she made them worse.

Even if you're married to a man who doesn't want you, at least you are safe from Dunstan.

The words rose out of nowhere, comforting words, for she recognized them as the truth. The notion cheered her a little. True, she was in love with a man who didn't love her, but she was young and she was free and her whole life stretched before her. She had her own future, her own dreams. She refused to spend time languishing over a man who didn't want her.

Though it took a burst of will, Kathryn stiffened her spine. She didn't need Lucien Montaine to make her happy. She had her studies, the challenge of her work, and she had already begun to help a few of the people in the village. Aside from that, there was little Michael to consider. One way or another, she intended to free him from St. Bart's.

Kathryn squared her shoulders. She'd been taking care of herself since her father died. Except as protection from her uncle, she didn't need a husband. She had never really wanted one. And if, after last night, she was not with child, they could still get that annulment.

If Lucien didn't want her, so be it. She was tired of begging his forgiveness, tired of trying to make up for the mistake she had made in forcing the marriage. From now on, she would stay away from Lucien Montaine. For all she cared, the man could go straight to Hades.

FOURTEEN.

Light snow flew, more an icy sleet, and it melted as soon as it hit the ground. Still, a chill air whipped through the trees and slithered beneath the mullioned windows of the Quill and Sword Tavern.

Sitting at a scarred wooden table in the corner, Lucien absently sipped a tankard of ale. The taproom was dark and smoky, the stone walls thick, and the timbered ceiling low. It smelled of sour ale and stale tobacco.

Still, it was his secret hideaway, a place he came when he wanted to escape his duties at Castle Running, as he was doing tonight. He glanced around the taproom, mildly observing the occupants: a pair of red-uniformed soldiers, home on leave and already well into a deep rum fuddle; the smithy from the stable who was dealing a hand of cards; the big-breasted tavern maid who always let him know she was eager for a tumble if the notion should arise-along with anything else.

He had never taken her up on the offer. As randy as he was in the days since he had taken his little wife to bed, for a moment, he actually considered it.

Lucien sighed into the smoky, dimly lit interior. How the b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l had he gotten himself into such a fix? d.a.m.n, but he was a fool. Though he wasn't in the mood for liquor, he sipped his drink, just to have something to do. Tipping his chair back against the wall, he stretched his legs out in front of him and thought how much his life had changed since he had met Kathryn Grayson.

His sigh was lost in the noise of the taproom. Why did everyone around him seem so cheerful, while he felt so morose? He sat for a while in silence, then glanced up as the door to the tavern swung open, letting in a cold draft of air. Lucien watched a familiar brawny figure duck his head through the opening and step inside the taproom.

By the light of the fire in the old stone hearth, Jason Sinclair surveyed the occupants in the tavern, grinned, and strode straight toward him. He dragged out a ladder-backed chair, flipped it around, and sat down astride it.

"I went by to see you," Jason said. "When no one seemed to know where you'd gone, I figured you might be here."

Lucien straightened, righting the chair he leaned back in, and set his nearly full tankard back down on the table. "Well, you've found me. This is the only place I could think to go where I could keep my sanity."

Jason arched a brow. "Trouble at home?"

"You might say that."

"Worse than the night I came to play chess? I heard you pounding away at Kathryn's door. I imagine you got in."

Lucien didn't reply and the fact he didn't was answer enough for Jason.

He smiled. "I wish I'd been a fly on the wall. I would have loved to have seen your wife's face when you came charging through the door like a raging bull."

Lucien grunted, remembering the scene all too well. "Suffice it to say, the lady is now my wife in truth. There won't be any annulment."

The tavern maid, Sadie Jenson, arrived just then, interrupting the conversation. "What can I get for ye, Yer Grace?" she said to Jason, who was also well-known in the tavern. She was pretty in an overblown way, her hair a flaxen blond, her hips wide, but round and tight and enticing when she moved.

Jason c.o.c.ked his head toward Lucien. "Bring me a tankard of whatever it is my friend is drinking."

Sadie nodded. "Right, ye are, luv." She walked seductively back to the rough plank bar and Lucien's gaze followed. He noticed Jason's did not. Unlike himself, it was obvious his friend was well satisfied at home. The fact was more than a little disturbing.

"You said you were looking for me. Did you want something, or were you simply dropping by to see how I'd fared with my wife?"

"Actually, Velvet wanted me to come. She was hoping I could convince you and Kathryn-and your aunt, of course-to join us for a small house party on the eve before Christmas. I realize you might have plans, now that you have a family of your own, but-"

"A family? I'd hardly call it that."

The tavern maid appeared, set the pewter tankard of ale down on the table, smiled at Lucien, then faded quietly away.

"Well, you've a wife now, at least. That is a start."

"Physical attraction has never been part of the problem."

Jason frowned. "Then what the devil is?"

Lucien ran a hand over his hair, smoothing several loose black strands away from his face. "G.o.d help me, I don't know. Every time I look at her, I want her. She is nothing at all what I imagined a wife to be, but I want her just the same. The odd thing is, the more I l.u.s.t for her, the more I stay away."

Jason mulled that over, took a long drink of his ale. He mopped the foam from his mouth with the back of one big hand and set the mug back down on the table. "You know what I think? I think she scares you. She is intelligent, well educated, and extremely pa.s.sionate by nature. She makes you feel things you don't want to feel and it frightens you to death."

"That's ridiculous. She is barely a woman, little more than a girl."

"She's courageous and full of fire. She's strong-willed and determined, and she isn't afraid to meet you head-on. You never expected that in the woman you married. You wanted someone like Allison Hartman, a woman you could pat on the head and ignore. You can't do that with Kathryn."

"You're as mad as she is."

Jason grinned. "She's not mad and you know it. I'll grant your wife may be a bit eccentric, but there really isn't anything wrong with that."

Lucien arched a brow. "Eccentric? Yesterday she came to my study and asked if she could set up her laboratory in the little stone cottage down by the creek. Her laboratory, forG.o.dsake. The woman is the Marchioness of Litchfield and she wants to be some sort of b.l.o.o.d.y healer."

Jason chuckled softly. "She is definitely not your shy, retiring miss."

"A woman belongs at home, caring for her husband and children, not out roaming the countryside, dispensing herbs-half of which have the opposite result she intends."

Jason sipped his ale. "Did you let her use the cottage?"

"No."

"She said her mother and sister died and no one could do a thing to save them. Obviously, their deaths. .h.i.t her hard."

Lucien leaned back in his chair. "Kathryn has suffered more than enough grief in her life. She hardly needs more. That is exactly what will happen if she tries to help every b.l.o.o.d.y vagrant in England. Hopefully in time she'll come to her senses and end this ridiculous notion she is on some sort of mission."

Jason raised his tankard of ale toward Lucien. "I wish you luck, my friend. You are definitely going to need it."

Lucien said nothing more. As far as he was concerned the subject of Kathryn Grayson Montaine was closed. Perhaps if she followed his dictates and from now on acquiesced to his wishes, they could begin to have some semblance of a normal marriage.

G.o.d, he hoped so. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stay away from his pretty wife's bed.

"Do ye see 'im?" Hollis Wills stood in the dark outside the mullioned windows of the Quill and Sword Tavern. He pulled up the collar of his ragged woolen jacket against the cold.

"Yeah, I see him. He's talkin' to that b.l.o.o.d.y big duke what is his friend."

"G.o.d's eyes, Murray-we can't take on that big blighter. We're likely to get ourselves kilt." A short, stocky, tree trunk of a man, Hollis flapped his arms around his body against the cold.

Murray Tibbons continued to watch through the window. "Don't look like we're gonna have to. The duke's leavin'. Looks like the bleedin' marquess is stayin' behind."

Hollis grinned, revealing the gap between his two front teeth. " 'E's a dead man, then."

Murray just grunted. He was taller than Hollis, a former freight-wagon driver, with thick arms, strong legs, and a streak of meanness that had a way of keeping his pockets full of coin. He made a sideways movement of his head. "Come on. We'll wait for him round back. Sooner or later, he'll have to come out that way to get his horse."

Hollis rubbed his hands together against the cold. He had poked his blunt fingers through holey mittens, but they did little to keep him warm. He followed Murray around to the rear of the tavern and they took up places in the shadows.

They didn't have to wait long. The sound of boots crunching against the frozen earth alerted them to someone's presence.

"It's 'im!" Hollis whispered, the sound hissing past the s.p.a.ce between his teeth.

"Keep quiet," Murray warned. "Do you want him to know we're here?" They waited until the marquess drew closer, waited till he rounded the corner and walked into the shadowy darkness, then Murray stepped out and neatly brought a length of wood down on the man's dark head.

Litchfield was a tall man, lean and hard and strong. He took the blow and staggered, shook his head and came up swinging, his fist connecting like a hammer with Murray's jaw. Murray swore foully as he tumbled backward, landing a.r.s.e over teakettle on the cold snowy ground. Hollis charged in just then, the blade of his knife flashing in the moonlight.