Maybe This Time, page 27
Her head downcast, she nodded, accepting the terms of his compromise.
Kevan raised her chin. “Look at me.”
She met his gaze and stifled a shudder. Desire burned deep in his eyes. His hands slid down the lengths of her arms and up her sides to her ribs, branding her skin through her clothes. Her knees grew weak, and she tried to look away.
“No,” he demanded in a harsh whisper. “Look at me.”
Alyssa forced herself to hold his gaze. His fingertips brushed the upper swell of her breasts and a shiver of excitement raced through her. Could he hear her heart pounding? Feel the tremors storming through her body?
“You will come to me, Alyssa. I want my wife in my bed. I’ve a need to feel her hands on my body, a need to bring her pleasure.”
He captured her lips in a gentle kiss that deepened until it seared her soul. A kiss that left her breathless and melting against him.
Too soon, he released her, and, before she fully regained her senses, he disappeared through the door that she assumed connected their chambers. Her blood coursed through her body, her heart pounded in her head. And a deliciously sweet ache throbbed in her center, a throb she’d suspected in the carriage and now knew for certain linked itself to Kevan’s touch.
Dragging in breath, she wondered. Could a woman die from her husband’s kiss? No. She clasped her hands at her chest to slow her heart. If a kiss could be lethal, she’d be stone dead. Lord, could Kevan kiss!
“AH, MILADY, you’re awake. My name is Lacy. I’ve come to help you dress.”
Alyssa turned from the window and smiled at the young woman addressing her. A shock of thick red curls peeked out from under her cap.
“What gown do you fancy?” Lacy turned and opened the closet.
With a pang of longing, Alyssa thought of the beautiful clothes she’d left at her father’s house. “I—I’m not sure.” Kevan had provided her with traveling clothes—excellent ones, but did she own one appropriate for a celebration?
“Haven’t you looked at them?” Lacy’s eyes stretched wide. “His lordship sent to France for them special.”
“He did?” A ripple of delight spread inside Alyssa. A man wouldn’t bother attending a woman’s wardrobe unless he held her in affection. Would he?
“Yes, ma’am.” Lacy’s nod set her curls to bouncing. “Each collection that arrived was prettier than the last.”
Collection? Alyssa’s heart tumbled. “When did his lordship do this?”
“Let me see,” she said, disappearing inside the closet. Her head jutted out. “It was after Brighton—before the new year, a year past. But don’t you be worrying none. They’re of fashion. Timeless. Every one of them.”
A shiver crept up Alyssa’s backbone and prickled her skin. She’d been through Brighton that summer. Accompanied her father to Bath to take the waters for his gout. And they’d come to Brighton afterward to sea bathe, too. But she was certain she’d not seen Kevan then. A woman with eyes and her wits about her wouldn’t forget him. Such an imposing presence. If she could just place where she’d seen his ring. It should be easy. The ring bore such a distinct design. A jewel-studded sword . . .
Lacy stepped out of the closet holding a deep blue silk gown. “Will this suit?”
Alyssa fingered the rich fabric, and her breath caught. Fragile, diaphanous, it had no equal. “Yes.”
She looked through the closet. Gowns of all kinds were arranged in a neat row: carriage, court, dinner; evening, full-evening, garden; morning, riding, walking, and on and on. Her head was spinning. Each one was more beautiful than the last. Exquisite fabrics, simple designs, delicate, intricate trims. Some with ribbons, some with braid or fur, and all perfectly matched to her taste.
She moved to the dresser and opened each drawer. Then went on to a second chest of sorts and did the same. Her every need, from perfume to parasols, including ornaments for her hair, had been provided. And of all the bonnets, not one boasted a plume. She smiled at that. Plumes were not to her liking—nor, it seemed, to Kevan’s.
In discovering her treasures, she’d acquired a bit of knowledge about her husband, too. He had a partiality to blue. Many of the gowns were in various shades of Bishop’s, Clarence and Spanish. He bent toward simple designs, understated and elegant, and he purchased only items of excellent quality.
While his choice of outer garments told her of his restraint, the undergarments and nightwear he’d selected spoke of a very different man. A rogue.
They were sinful! Mere scraps of the most beautiful lace she’d ever seen, and sheer gauzy fabrics that were silky to the touch and near translucent to the eye.
How in the world did he expect her to wear such things? Just looking at them set her aflame with embarrassment. Did married women actually appear before their husbands in such a state of near nudity?
She lifted a fan and cooled her cheeks. Walking past her bed, she saw that both pillows were indented. Had Kevan rested there beside her?
Her glance went to his bedside table. On it, she saw a green shamrock. She left it there to flutter in the breeze from the open window and resisted the urge to pull the little flower list from her reticule. “Lacy.” She turned toward the bright-eyed abigail. “We must hurry.”
Lacy did hurry, and in no time Alyssa was standing before the cheval glass examining herself. The gown, square-necked and scooped low, flattered. And the deep blue color had a startling effect on her eyes. “You’ve worked a veritable wonder, Lacy. I like my hair swept back like this, too, though the ringlets tickle my nape.”
“It’s the newest rage, milady. You’ve got good hair. Fine as silver silk.”
Lacy left the chamber, and Alyssa rushed to retrieve her list. “Shamrock. Shamrock.” She slid her fingertip down the list. “Shamrock.” A broad smile creased her lips. “Faithfulness.”
Kevan understood the symbols of the flowers.
Nineteen
FROM HIS BEDROOM window, Kevan saw Alyssa strolling through the garden, her bonnet in her hand. Sunlight sparkled on her hair, loose and spilling over her shoulders. His heart leapt mightily, and he had to reassure himself that she was truly his wife.
The breeze flowing in through the window held a slight chill, and he realized that she wore no shawl. How he longed to warm her but his decision to first earn her trust had been a wise one. For him, an aching one that his body protested more each night, but for his wife, the right one.
He turned for the door. “Hold breakfast, Parks. I’m joining my wife in the garden.”
“Yes, milord.”
He stopped by her room, then made his way to the garden. If he had bedded her right away, perhaps her reassurance would have come at once. But, considering her past, her ill-treatment at the hands of her father and Innes, the risk was too great. Their marriage must be a good one, an exceptional one—for both of them. Earning trust took time. Oh, Alyssa would be worth the wait; his heart knew that, but his body needed convincing that the torture it endured in waiting was justified. What could he do to speed up the trust-building process? He rubbed his neck, and a slow smile curved his lips. Yes, a little friendly torture might be just the thing . . .
Seeing her ahead on the stoned path, he called out. “Alyssa?”
She turned and smiled, her eyes trusting, pleased to see him. He melted. In six short weeks everything had changed. She’d grown accustomed to him and his home, to sharing his life. She stopped on the path and waited for him. “I brought your shawl. It is March, love, not June. You’ll catch a chill.”
He draped the garment over her shoulders and lifted her hair. Its silken strands taunted his fingertips. Longing to give in to passion, to tangle her hair with his hands, to fill her body with his, he pressed his lips to her cheek and settled for the satisfaction he felt at their progress. She no longer stiffened at his touch, but seemed to welcome it.
“Thank you.”
The brisk air had her cheeks flushed. Her scent mingled with the fresh, crisp, earthy ones of the park.
“May I walk with you?”
“Of course, milord. I thought to view the lake.” She smiled up at him. “It’s quite possibly the most beautiful place on earth.”
Kevan took her arm and covered her hand with his. Of all his properties, Woodwind was his favorite. He’d grown from boy to man here, and that Alyssa found beauty in it pleased him.
They walked in comfortable silence through the park; past the rose garden his mother had designed two decades earlier; past the long, sweeping beds where seven varieties of irises lay dormant until summer. Under a huge fir, near the bank of the lake, Kevan stopped. Surrounded by the sense of home that had given him such security as a child, he faced his wife—and his uppermost concern. “Alyssa, are you content in your marriage to me?”
A faint blush darkened her cheeks. “These past weeks have been pleasant, milord.”
Pleasant. A ripple of contentment suffused him. According to Meg, Alyssa had known little pleasure since her mother’s death. That she found it in their marriage pleased him greatly. “Do you miss the bustle of London? The season will begin in a matter of weeks.”
“No, not really.” Squinting against the morning sun, she looked out onto the water. “I like the quiet here. And the solitude.”
Though he had observed her appreciation for the country, he suspected that she was afraid to return to London. Her welcome there was uncertain. She’d eloped, after all, with a man who had stolen her from the arms of her betrothed. That blemish on her reputation, and on his own, combined with the abduction had caused quite a scandal among the ton. So much so that Lady Jersey had written, insisting that something must be done about “those certain events” before he and Alyssa returned to London.
“I prefer the country, too,” he told her. “I’m not much for the social whirl, or for the machinations of the elite.”
“Mmm.”
The lake captured Alyssa’s attention, and he followed her gaze. Massive trees draped long, graceful limbs over the banks.
“It’s lovely, isn’t it? The way the water sparkles, like thousands of diamonds bobbing on its surface refusing to sink?” She let out a sigh of contentment. “I must confess, milord. I have developed a tendre for this spot.”
Kevan lifted her hand and pressed it to his lips. “It’s you who sparkles, my dear. My own diamond of the first water.”
Smiling, Alyssa met his gaze, saw the moment affection became desire in his eyes. The cool air seemed to warm between them, then to heat, scorching her through her clothes. Her throat tightened and she whispered. “Kevan, please.”
“Yes, love,” he whispered. “I please to touch you. Come.”
She protested, remaining firm on the path at the lake’s edge. “It is the light of day. There are people about.”
He stood facing her, his arms at his sides, his gaze burrowing into her soul. “Kiss me. Please, Alyssa. I’ve a need to touch you. Don’t make me take from you. Just once, give to me.”
The longing in his eyes, the need in his voice, wrenched at her heart. He’d been so good, so thoughtful in seeing to her needs, her whims. Honorable. Loving. Gentle. And she’d known so little of all three qualities.
How could she explain her feelings to him? She wanted his touch, his kisses, even more. She had wanted them for weeks. But to admit that, she must forfeit her pride. And without her pride, she had nothing to hold him.
He knew her to be a lady. He did not know her to be an impoverished one. She’d come to their marriage with nothing except her grandmother’s wedding gown. No dowry, no holdings, no jewels. Her worthlessness alone made it humiliating for her to reach out to him. But the other—her father’s situation—made reaching out impossible.
No, no matter how she longed to, she could not give herself completely to this marriage. Or to Kevan. When he learned the truth, he would surely set her aside. She must hold onto her pride. When Kevan left her, her pride would be all she would have.
She remembered the water lily she’d found on his pillow that morning. It meant, her list said, purity of heart. Though she could not give herself totally, she could not refuse him. Not when he had given so much. “Please, milord. Kiss me.”
His kiss was warm, tender, and, when she demanded more than his gentle exploration, he gave her shocking proof of his desire. His tongue pressed between her lips. She tried to pull back, but he refused to allow it, pulling her closer to him instead. Their mouths merged, his lips rubbed against hers, encouraging her to grow more bold in her timid participation. She parted her lips. When his tongue touched hers, a burning flared to life deep inside her that made her certain she would catch flame and disappear in a puff of smoke.
His lips slid across her cheek and trailed down her throat, nibbling, teasing her flesh. Warm and sweet, his uneven breath set her to trembling, to tingling.
Kevan murmured into her neck. “Let me love you, Alyssa. I need you so much.”
She couldn’t answer. Again his lips taunted her throat, the underside of her chin, the hollow behind her ear, setting fires that burned far beneath the skin he touched. He raked her earlobe with his teeth. A warm pleasure spread through her and settled in her breasts, hardening their centers that pressed firmly against his coat. She wanted him, too; and silently she cried out all he longed to hear, all she could not speak.
She raised his face for her kiss, and let out a telling moan. So much emotion etched his features: his desire to please her, his need to belong, to feel welcome in her arms. And, for the first time, Alyssa sensed in Kevan a vulnerability, a certainty that she could hurt him. With that startling realization, she also sensed his trust, his faith that she would tread lightly and not abuse this humbling power she held.
In that dawning moment, Alyssa knew that—this once—she could refuse Kevan nothing. He deserved all she could give him. And, later, if she found herself stripped bare to the bone, she would look back on this day without regret. She whispered. “Oh, Kevan. Please, hold me.”
His hands splaying the width of her back, he spread and cupped his fingertips, then pulled her tight against his hard length, curving their bodies into a perfect-fitting form. His hands drifted down, low on her spine, and their mouths fused. His kiss was long and languid, lush, weakening her knees, and her resolve. She cursed the obstruction of their clothes—her muslin skirt, his buckskin breeches—and conjured again her fantasy of them in the lake together. Their bodies nude and as slick as the seal she’d touched at the shore, skimming each other in a sensuous, seductive dance. Oh, her thoughts grew more and more wicked. How did he do this to her?
Then his tongue tangled with hers, and she decided she didn’t care how. She just forfeited herself to the magic of his touch.
Too soon, he groaned against her mouth and lifted his head. She looked up at him, her arms wrapped about his neck, and told him with her eyes all that she felt, willing him to see the words he could not hear because she could not speak them.
“You’re too tempting, love.” His hand on her face trembled, his fingertips touched her as though they were committing her every nuance to his memory. His voice grew husky, thick. “We’d best go back. Parks is holding breakfast.”
Crestfallen, Alyssa nodded. He had not understood. This moment, like so many before it, was lost.
On the walk back, Kevan carried the conversation. When a reply seemed necessary, Alyssa responded, but her mind was on more important matters. How could she get her message to him?
“Love?” Kevan stopped on the path and gently clasped her arm. “Do you realize your insult?”
“Insult? Excuse me, milord?” Her cheeks warmed, and she confessed. “I was wool-gathering.”
“Indeed you were. You’ve agreed to paint the manor house purple with lavender dots, to accompany me on my morning rides wearing nothing but a cloak, and to swim naked with me in the lake.”
Alyssa gasped and felt her warm cheeks blaze.
Kevan chuckled. “No, don’t think to protest, love. You are a Buchannan. Your word is your bond.”
His twinkling eyes held a gleam of mischief. Responding to that banter, Alyssa managed a deep sigh, her own mood growing light. If they swam naked together, surely . . . “Well, milord. I am Buchannan. And we are women of our word. But this agreement does create a pucker to be resolved.”
“How so, my dear?” Facing her, he feigned a frown and a serious tone.
“I cannot abide the color purple.” She bit her lips to keep from smiling. It was nearly impossible. Oh, he looked gorgeous.
“I see.” He pretended serious consideration. “I care not for the color myself. And I care even less for lavender dots. I’ll permit a change of heart on that matter.”
“My lord is most gracious.” She dipped her chin.
He sent her a stern look. “The other two agreements, however, I shall hold you to. Repayment for neglecting your husband, milady.”
Alyssa’s teeth worried her lower lip. Her heart was sure to leap from her chest. “Oh, dear. I fear that concession alone doesn’t resolve my dilemma. While I’d be delighted to accompany you on your morning ride—securely wrapped in my cloak, of course—”
“Of course,” he heartily agreed. “We must have a care not to malign your character.”
“Indeed.” She nodded, a delighted participant in his whimsical fancy. “However, I’m afraid the other item in our agreement is not within my grasp.” She stepped closer, touched her hand to his forearm, and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “The horrid truth, milord, is that I cannot swim.”
“Mmm, a most troublesome inconvenience.” He rubbed his chin, worried his neck, then covered her hand on his arm with his free one. “I suppose then, milady, ‘tis your good fortune that you married a humble, but gallant, gentleman who would delight in removing that obstacle from your path.”
