Maybe This Time, page 28
A thrill of sheer joy raced through her. “You’ll teach me to swim?”
“I will.”
She beamed a genuine smile and pecked his cheek with a kiss. “Your chivalry is unsurpassed, milord.”
“Ah,” he said on a sigh, trying to appear disgruntled, and failing miserably. “The trials we men endure to preserve the honor of our ladies.”
Her voice twinkled merriment. “Your undying devotion, milord?”
“Always, my dear lady. Always.”
Though his tone sounded light, his words held the ring of truth. Sure she was floating, her feet dangling above the stone path that had been under her feet, she smiled up at him.
“The second portion of that particular agreement, however, does not require that you swim. Only that you join me in the water.”
“Nude.” Her smile turned to a frown. “The penalty of wool-gathering in your presence, milord, is steep.”
He gave her a wicked grin. “But pleasurable, milady. I give you my vow.”
“Brazen is more apt, I would say.” She had only not to refuse him. But did she dare? The expression on his face, so open, so loving, enchanted her. She must accept him, she decided. Later, when he learned the truth, if he did set her aside then at least she’d have these memories of him, of his loving, to fill her days and warm her nights.
Excitement danced through her veins. “I believe you, milord. You, too, are a Buchannan. Your word is your bond.” Would he understand this time? Would he realize that she was not opposed to him coming to her chamber in the night? That she welcomed his presence in all areas of her life?
He held her in a gentle caress, then stepped away. Her heart waited. But as Kevan bent down, picked up a stone, then tossed it out into the lake, her spirit plummeted with the rock. He had not understood.
“Soon it will be two months since we wed, love. Have you notified your father?”
She trapped her disappointment in a small sigh. The man was not dull-witted. Why then had he turned the subject? Did he truly want her, or only the chase?
“Alyssa?” He turned to face her. “Have you had contact with your father?”
“I’ve told him that I am well and that I’ve wed. But I’ve not told him where we reside.”
“Why not?”
“If he has need, he knows how to contact me. But I won’t have him here, Kevan. I—I can’t.”
“Because he drinks?”
“No.” Hot with embarrassment, Alyssa looked up at her husband through eyes that pled he ask no more. How could she tell him the truth? About her father selling her to Innes. About Innes’s poor wife, Hedwig. About her own fear of her father’s part in that tragedy. That he was ruined, and, according to Lady Jersey’s last letter, vowing to challenge Kevan to a duel?
No, it was too much to expect a husband to tolerate, or to accept. She must keep the two men apart. For different reasons, both had grown too important to her. One because he was bloodrelated. Though her love for him died the day he thrust her into the arms of a murderer, her loyalty to her mother remained. For her, Alyssa would maintain contact with him. The other man, her darling demon-knight, had rescued and married her. And with six weeks of endearments and loving touches and unexpected conversation, she’d grown accustomed to him, and indebted. He’d given her a treasure she had sorely missed since her mother’s death: happiness and peace.
“You need not explain, love.” His quiet voice blended with the calm chirping of a pair of wrens. “I trust your reasons warrant your actions.”
“They do, milord.”
“Then we’ll speak of it only at your desire.” He hooked her arm in his, patted her hand, and started walking.
Near the edge of the park, Alyssa stopped. The time had come to take in hand the matter of her marriage. “May I ask you a personal question?”
He smiled. “You are my wife, my dear. Concerns expressed between us require no permission.”
She held her breath. “Have you ever been in love?”
Kevan chuckled. “At least a hundred times.”
“Oh.” She lowered her head to shield her disappointment.
“Before I left the schoolroom.”
She looked up. His eyes twinkled, and his mouth curved into that crooked smile that lifted his lip on the left side just enough to set her heart to thumping. “And after you left the schoolroom, milord?”
He reached up and stroked her cheek between his finger and thumb. “Only once since then.”
She shouldn’t have asked. Why had she? It was foolish, destructive, to delve into his affections for another woman. What demon had possessed her to do such a thing?
The reason was simple and suddenly clear. At some time during these past weeks, Kevan Buchannan had stolen her heart. She’d developed a true affection for the man.
“Alyssa?”
Her attention reverted to the subject of her thoughts. A wicked grin curved his lips, making him look every bit like the rakehell demon she’d once thought him. “Dear, God. What did I agree to this time?”
He looked smug, satisfied. “To swim with me now.”
“But—but it’s cold, Kevan.”
“You gave your word.”
She looked into his eyes. The warmth there could set snow to blazing. “I—I’d rather—”
“I’d rather,” he interrupted, “you kept your word, love. You are—”
“A Buchannan,” she finished for him. Secretly thrilled and pretending discord, she took his hand and turned back toward the lake.
ALYSSA PEEKED out from behind a huge fir. Kevan stood chest deep in the water. Just looking at his bare chest, and feeling the cool nip of the air on her own bare skin, set her to shivering.
“Come, Alyssa.”
“Turn your back,” she yelled out, whirling a finger she doubted he could see.
Like a dutiful husband, he turned, and, keeping her gaze on him the entire time, she sprinted the short distance to the lake. “Don’t you dare turn around, Kevan Buchannan.”
She tested the water with her big toe. “It’s warm!” Her exclamation sounded like the accusation she’d meant. “Why didn’t you tell me the lake was fed by a hot spring?”
Kevan grinned and turned. “You didn’t ask. Are you pleased?”
“You turned!”
“Of course, I did. It isn’t proper to address a person’s back, love. Of all people, I do not wish to insult my wife.”
Kevan kept his gaze on her face, though the temptation to devour her slender form with his eyes burned almost irresistible. She must learn to trust him though, and that incentive kept his gaze locked above her shoulders. Without her trust, he would never win her heart. And his own heart could accept no less.
As she waded deeper into the water, she glared at him, her cheeks bright with spots of color. Her breasts dipped beneath the surface, and she looked up at him.
“I’m ready to swim. I do hope you’re an able teacher, Kevan. Are you? I’ve always wanted to learn to swim, but in London there was no opportunity, and, well, to be quite frank, the water intimidates me some, though—”
“Must you always chatter when you’re nervous, love?”
Her eyes stretched wide and her cheeks colored from pink to rose. “Evidently, milord. When one doesn’t float, it’s quite frightening to be surrounded by water. Will you teach me that first—to float, I mean?”
He smiled. Not because of her vitality, though he loved that about her, but because she had admitted her weakness. She trusted him. Had her revelation been intentional? “I will. Come.”
She walked into his outstretched arms. He turned her, his big hands spanning her ribs. The feel of her bare skin under his palms sent waves of pleasure pounding through him.
Alyssa, too, trembled, and looked at him over the slope of her shoulder. “Kevan, I’ve a need to ask you something.”
She looked nervous enough to start chattering again. “What is it, love?”
Licking her lips, she looked up at him. “It is a serious matter,” she warned him. “I want your frank opinion.”
“Very well.”
“The truth is, I’ve a dilemma, Kevan. I’ve no wish to jeopardize my mortal soul or to displease my Creator—He’s given me a true treasure, you see.”
When it became evident that she wasn’t going to say anything more, Kevan prodded her. “Yes?”
Her face colored to cherry red, and she lowered her gaze to his chest. “Is it . . . sinful to enjoy your husband’s touch?”
Kevan’s heart slammed against his ribs. So innocent, so unsure of propriety. Had no one explained the ways of a man and woman to her? Sensing her deep embarrassment, he knew to handle the topic not with the gentleness he desired, but with clinical detachment. “Anything that feels natural between husband and wife is normal. Anything that doesn’t, that makes either party uneasy, is degrading and should be avoided.”
She nodded, seemingly pleased. “Thank you.”
He wanted to hold her, to show her all of the natural, loving things he felt for her. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Alyssa needed time to assimilate, time to heal from the lifetime of wounds her father had inflicted upon her. Thank God, Innes hadn’t added to her injuries. It was rumored that the man had a black heart and a cruel hand.
Kevan turned her body until her shoulder brushed his chest. “You must trust me, or we will not succeed.”
Alyssa nodded. “I do trust you, Kevan.”
Smiling his pleasure at that disclosure, he guided her backward and placed one hand under her shoulders, the other under her lower back. The tips of her breasts peeked from under the water’s surface and crested. Her gaze shot to his, but he pretended not to notice, and she relaxed.
“Good. Now I’m going to let go of you. Arch your back just a bit. When you feel your legs begin to sink, kick ever so gently.” He slid his hand down her silky thigh to her calf and demonstrated. “Do the same with your head.”
“I—I can’t kick my head, Kevan.”
“Sorry, touching you has my mind a bit fogged. I meant your arms, of course. You can swish your arms. Like this.”
She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. “I understand.”
His gaze held hers. “I’m going to let go now. I won’t let you go under.”
“I’m not at all sure I really want to learn to swim, Kevan. In fact, I’ve decided that . . .”
Her nervous chatter returned with a vengeance. Kevan listened to her ramble for a full minute before he tried to interrupt. “Alyssa.”
She didn’t even pause for breath. It was amazing that such a tiny—he let his gaze rove her naked form—though perfect body could talk so long without drawing breath. “Alyssa.”
“So you see, Kevan. It’s really foolish for a married woman of twenty-two—”
“Alyssa!” he shouted. “You’re floating.”
As soon as his words sank into her mind, Alyssa’s body sank into the water. Laughing, Kevan pulled her up just before her head dipped beneath the surface. He drew her into his embrace.
Wide-eyed, delighted, Alyssa looked up at him. “I did it, Kevan. I did! I floated!”
“Indeed you did.” He raised her high in the air, spun, and let her slide down his length until his lips found hers for a victory kiss.
Bare flesh grazed bare flesh. Breathing grew rapid, shallow. The feel of her slick, wet skin meshing with his had his body tense, longing, aroused. Still, fear rode alongside passion in her kiss. Regret washed through him, and, fighting to hold his emotions in check, he raised his head. It was not yet time.
Clinging to him, she looked up at him through somber eyes. “Kevan, I—I—”
“I know, love. You’re not ready.” His body shuddered as he hugged her to him for a long moment just to relish the feel of her naked body pressing against his. “But soon, mmm? I need you, milady.”
“Soon.”
“ALYSSA?”
“In the library, Kevan.” Alyssa called out. She stuffed her needlework into a basket and set it on the floor. Lord, her manners were becoming atrocious. “Ladies do not yell.” She recalled the soft rebuke Lady Jersey had first issued to her at the young age of ten—or had she been nine on that visit to the Jersey’s country house?
Still, she smiled like an imp, the country permitted ladies all sorts of liberties that were refused them in the city: walking the grounds without an escort, swimming with her husband and without her clothes.
Her heart quickened. Such scandalous behavior! But Kevan had sworn that anything feeling natural between man and wife was not sinful. And she was more than happy to believe him. His chest had the most wonderful feel to it. And his thighs. Hair-roughened, strong. Powerful.
Heat clearly associated with Kevan infused her with longing. Did all men feel like him? She pondered and decided they couldn’t. Kevan was special, different, the last rescuing knight. And if he didn’t forget his manners and take her to bed soon, she was going to throw a full-fledged fit.
The subject of her thoughts strode into the library holding a dark green wine bottle. With a slight pause in his step, he brushed her temple with a kiss and retrieved two glasses from the sideboard.
“What is that?” Alyssa asked, pointing to the bottle.
“This, my dear, is mead.”
“Are we celebrating?” Alyssa patted the seat beside her on the divan. She certainly felt ample cause to celebrate these days. How accustomed she’d become to Kevan’s open affection and thoughtfulness. How many wives in all of England, she wondered, were presented with a fresh flower and a shamrock each day of their married lives? A kiss, when their husband came or left? A secret smile that spoke of genuine pleasure merely to look upon them? His care more than eased the pain inflicted by her father, more than—
“We are indeed celebrating.” He sat down beside her. “My clever wife learned to float today.”
“Kevan.” All she could speak was his name, but her heart felt so much more, and suddenly tears were threateningly close.
“Don’t you want to know about the mead?” he asked, as if sensing her mood. “Margaret makes it herself from an old family recipe.”
Margaret, Kevan’s crusty cook, was herself a Buchannan tradition. “A veritable wonder in your kitchen, milord.”
“Do you know that mead is nearly extinct?”
He sounded disgruntled. As though the world would stop its revolutions should the drink face such a fate. “Mead wouldn’t dare,” she said.
“I should certainly hope not.”
“You’ve told me much about mead, milord, but you’ve yet to tell me what mead is.”
He gave her that grin that set her heart to thumping. “A honeyed wine, love.” He filled their glasses and passed one to Alyssa. “It’s quite mild. Very pleasant to the palate.”
“Mmm.” Alyssa accepted the glass. “Shall we toast?”
“Of course.” He raised his glass. “To your amphibious victory, and, of course, to our marriage.”
Alyssa raised her glass to his. “In the hope that I do not awaken with gills and fins, I attribute my victory to the skills of my excellent teacher. And I drink, of course, to our marriage.” Their glasses tapped with a delicate tinkle. Alyssa tilted the crystal against her lips. The smooth drink slid down her throat. Amber and sweet, though not too sweet, nor too strong.
“Hand me your glass, love.”
His throaty voice held an odd quiver she’d not heard before, and Alyssa studied him. Somber, serious-expressioned, he sat motionless, waiting. Her body tensed. Though his intent was unknown, his manner proved the import of his request. She extended her goblet toward him.
Their fingers brushing, Kevan took the glass from her hand, turned it to where her lips had been, and drank.
Her heart thudded a wild beat till it felt full to bursting. This gesture, like the flowers, was symbolic. Her darling lord had just bestowed upon her an esteemed honor too few wives had ever been granted: he saluted his lady.
Unshed tears blurred her vision, and her throat tightened. “Thank you, milord.” She moved closer to him on the divan until their thighs met, then pressed her lips to his warm cheek. Remembering Meg’s warning that husbands detest demonstrative wives, she quickly looked into the fire.
He draped his arm around her shoulder. “Do you like the mead?”
“I do. It’s very good.” She looked from the hissing fire to him and nipped at her inner cheek. “Are you certain this is a mild drink?”
Kevan watched her raise her glass to her rosy lips and envied the wine that would soon flow past them. When she swallowed, so did he. “Mead comes with its own legend.”
“Really? I’m partial to legends.”
Her slender fingers curled around the stem of the glass. He swallowed his envy of the crystal, too. She took another sip, and Kevan raised the bottle. She nodded, and he refilled her glass. “It’s called the wine of the bee.”
Her laughter floated through the room. It was a pleasant sound he’d never tire of hearing. “It’s quite old, you know. You should show a bit more respect.”
“It doesn’t taste old,” she countered.
Kevan arched a brow and watched his lovely wife grow more and more loose-limbed. At her request, he refilled her glass. “This bottle isn’t old, love. The recipe is old. It’s said that mead dates back to 2000 B.C.”
“Oh my, that is old.” She raised her glass and took a healthy swig. “Is that the legend, then?”
“No. The legend is much more interesting.” Why was she studying his hand? She seemed almost mesmerized by it. “In ancient times, it was abundantly supplied to the groom for a month following the wedding.”
“It is a wedding drink, then?”
He nodded. “It is sometimes called that.”
“Oh, dear.”
Her hand settled on his thigh. Startled by her touch, he jerked, but she didn’t seem to notice.
“I’ve been remiss in my duty to you, milord.” She worried her lip with her teeth and stroked the length of his thigh. “Pray, forgive my neglect.”
