Читать книгу The Complete Regency Surrender Collection - Энни Берроуз, Louise Allen - Страница 21

Chapter Eleven

Justine pulled a row of pins and undid the last few knots of the lace on her pillow, so that she might fix the mistakes she’d made when she’d lost concentration. Perhaps she should ask Will to read Walter Scott tonight, especially the bit about tangled webs and deception. Of course, a dishonest woman in that story had ended up walled alive in an abbey. In her current frame of mind, that story would not be light entertainment.

‘You are sure there is nothing you can recall about the accident that might make things clearer.’

Since she was making the story up as she went, she doubted that she had the detail he was hoping for. ‘I was not close enough to see. And it all happened too fast.’ He had been questioning her all through dinner about the past. After nearly two hours, he was no closer to what he expected to hear, but she balanced on the edge of a knife.

He was silent for a moment and she took the opportunity to turn the tables on him. ‘In my opinion, it is fortunate that you do not remember. Suppose it had come upon you suddenly and given you a turn. It was very dangerous to ride at all. What if something had happened and you had fallen again?’

Now he was the one who was uncomfortable, squirming in his seat like a guilty little boy.

She looked up from her work, too surprised to remember the role she was playing. ‘You fell again, didn’t you?’

‘It was nothing,’ he replied hurriedly. ‘I was back on my feet as soon as I regained my wind. But it makes me all the more confused at what caused the earlier accident.’

‘I do not know why I bothered to nurse you, if you use your recovery foolishly.’ Was this real alarm she was feeling at the thought of him lying hurt again? It was always sad when a man so young and alive met with a tragic accident. But when had it begun to matter to her?

He was at her side now, full of apology. ‘If it bothers you, I will take no more chances. Adam’s horse is a brute. I will not take him out again.’ He knelt in front of her now, until he was sure that he had caught her eye. ‘Am I forgiven?’

‘Of course,’ she said, trying and failing for her usual calm smile.

‘Very good,’ he said, then stared down at the work in her lap. She resumed her knotting, and he watched, fascinated by the rhythmic click and switch of the bone bobbins, the exactitude of pins and the slow but steady increase in finished work. ‘What are you making?’ he asked at last, unable to contain his curiosity.

‘I do not know, as of yet,’ she said. ‘A bit of trim for something. It is an old pattern and I do not have to think to work it. But it makes up very pretty.’

‘If you do not know what it is for, then why are you doing it?’

‘To keep my hands busy,’ she said. ‘Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, after all.’

‘Have you given thought to my suggestion of last night?’

She frowned, trying to remember what it was that he had said.

‘When I told you to make something for yourself,’ he said. ‘A tucker for that bodice, perhaps.’ He was staring at her breasts.

She placed a hand on her chest to hide them. ‘I am sorry if the gown is too low. I will change, if you wish.’

He pulled her hand away, wrapping the fingers with his. ‘There is nothing wrong with the dress, other than that it is rather plain. Not that you need to adorn yourself, to be more beautiful,’ he added hurriedly. ‘It simply surprises me that you do not treat yourself as you do others.’

She nodded, relieved that she had done nothing to offend. ‘It is such a large amount of work, if it is only to go for me.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Then you must make something for me,’ he said.

At this, she let out one small laugh, before stifling the emotion so as not to seem disagreeable. ‘Now you are being silly. Men do not wear lace such as this.’

He walked to her side and reached into her work basket, removing a particularly feminine scrap and draping it over his wrist. ‘Perhaps I shall create a fashion for it. Can you not see me in a neckcloth trimmed in birds and butterflies?’

‘I cannot,’ she said, without looking up.

‘Then you must make something for yourself, as a gift for me. I wish to see you adorned in lace, as I said last night.’ Then he draped it over the bare skin of her shoulder, admiring the flesh through the holes in the cloth.

The gentle brush on her shoulder seemed to strike at the very heart of her. Her breath caught in her throat and the room seemed strangely warm. She shrugged to get free of it. ‘I do not think it would suit me.’

‘It is not as beautiful as you are,’ he admitted. ‘But it is lovely all the same.’

This time, it was his words that stopped her breath. He had complimented her before. Why did it matter now?

He trailed the lace up the length of her arm. ‘When we married, did you not promise to obey?’

‘Yes.’ She almost whispered the word. Even for this man, would she ever have the courage to make such a promise, knowing what it might entail?

He smiled, triumphant. ‘Then I should like to see you wear lace. Not all the time. But often enough to prove you understand your own worth. If you will not make it for yourself, I shall buy it for you. Yards and yards of it.’

‘Now, that is certainly a waste,’ she said, imagining what such foolishness was likely to cost, compared with the work she might do for the cost of thread, was she willing to take the time.

‘It would be worth it to me,’ he said, ‘if it meant that I might see you dressed head to toe in nothing but that.’

If the idea had ever occurred to her before, she had set it aside as the kind of sinfully decadent thing a kept woman might do. That was reason enough to avoid it. It was less pleasant than one might expect to spend days parading about the shop in jewels like a mannequin brought to life. It was even worse to spend her evenings dressed as an object of desire.

But that had been when she was with Montague. Why was it strangely appealing when the man making the request was Will Felkirk? ‘It would not be very practical,’ she said at last. ‘Too likely to tear.’

‘I would remove it carefully,’ he assured her.

Her heart was beating fast now and she could feel her skin flushing, as though she was already displayed before him in a transparent gown. ‘It would take months to make a whole chemise,’ she said, hoping that might settle the matter.

He pretended to frown at this. But she could see the smile playing at the corner of his lips, as though her perfectly sensible response had amused him. Then he trailed the lace lightly across the back of her hand, up her arm and away, to hold it in front of her face. ‘Perhaps you could make a veil.’ He peered through it at her. ‘Did you wear one at our wedding?’

‘No,’ she whispered.

He nodded, ‘Because you had nothing to hide. But I can imagine it, all the same.’ He dragged the lace across her face, covering her eyes like a mask. Then he lowered it to cover her mouth. ‘Do you know there are cultures in the East where women hide their faces beneath veils from all but their husbands?’ He raised his eyes above the edge and gave her an arch look.

‘You would not expect that of me,’ she said, surprised.

‘It would be selfish of me to obscure such a face,’ he said. ‘Besides, you are almost too modest already, without my encouraging. You have no idea how arousing it is to see you so prim and proper, knowing what you keep concealed beneath your gown.’ He sighed then and kissed her through the lace. It was worthy of the innocence of the decoration, a simple touch of lip to lip through the barrier that separated them. There was nothing dangerous or demanding about it.

But her reaction to it was a surprise. She pressed her mouth into the fabric in eager response, her tongue licking at it as though she expected it to dissolve like spun sugar. That was what she wanted. A hint of sweetness, then a long, hot, meeting of mouths and tongues.

Did he share her feelings? Perhaps not. He lingered there, for a moment, then pressed a closed-mouthed kiss on to each of her closed eyes before dropping the lace back into the basket.

He smiled, as if he had discovered a secret. ‘It is just as I thought. Your beauty does not need gilding, but a touch of your own handiwork makes you all the more alluring. Now promise me that the next thing you make will be a gift for yourself.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. It was an answer to a question he had not asked.

‘Very good,’ he said and stood up again. Then he yawned as he had the previous evening. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, this conversation has put me in a mood to retire early.’ Perhaps he had understood, for the smile he gave her was warm and so full of confidence that it made her blush. ‘You may join me at your leisure.’ When he turned to leave, he barely needed the support of his cane.

She waited until she was sure he had gained the stairs before beginning to pack up her work for the night. She would lie with him tonight, if he wished it. She could not play the role of wife to him without submitting to his desires. It was what he expected. Montague expected it as well. But what had she wanted, when she had first come here?

Nothing more than to be left alone. She wanted to be able to decide for herself what her future held. Instead, she had become an obedient servant to another man. He was kinder than the first. More handsome as well. They shared interests. And they understood each other, or would, if she allowed him to know more of her.

But if she allowed him to know all? Then whatever they shared would be over, as quickly as it had begun. His gentle seduction and caring ways would disappear once he realised that she was another man’s cast off. Worse yet, that she was still that man’s property, set in Will’s house as a spy.

She set the needlework basket beneath her chair, where it would be ready for the next night. She took one last glance at the bit of lace that Will had held, before closing the top of the basket to hide it. It would be wise to shut her dreams away as well, for they would only lead to heartbreak in the end. She would lie with him tonight, as he expected. He deserved her obedience for what he was doing to help Margot, even if he did not understand the urgency of it. But there was no point in investing the act with hopes and plans that would all come to nothing.