Читать книгу Regency Christmas Courtship - Louise Allen - Страница 18

Chapter Ten

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Kate kept walking on shaky legs, climbed into bed and only then turned. Grant was dressed, somewhat sketchily, in a heavy green silk robe, belted loosely at the waist over what appeared to be nothing but bare skin.

She took a strengthening breath down to her diaphragm. ‘Assist? You, my lord, are the source of my confusion.’

‘Because I did not come to your bed?’ He moved to the foot of it, sat with his back against the post, legs stretched out parallel with hers, and studied her face.

Kate made herself lie still and not acknowledge the insidious pressure of his body. One long, bare, elegant foot pressed against her hip bone. She wanted to run a finger along the sharp cords of tendon, the curve of his instep. Instead she said, ‘I told myself that Charlie might have had a nightmare, or that you were so tired after your journey that you had fallen asleep or that a crisis might have occurred on the estate. All those were perfectly reasonable excuses for flirting with a wife you had not seen for months and then failing to…to join her. But constitutional procedure? I am not a vain woman, but really, I had not placed myself below turgid reading matter of that sort.’

‘I was employing it to take my mind off your presence in the next room. It was not very successful, and if I had been aware of that nightgown, it would have been even less so.’ As Grant leaned back, the front of his robe gaped open to reveal the side of his muscular chest, dusted in dark hair.

‘Why?’ It seemed she was only capable of enough breath for one word at a time.

‘I thought you were nervous. Shy. Flustered.’ He shrugged and the robe gaped more. Kate held her breath. ‘I did not want to pressure you.’

‘Of course I was…am shy. I do not know you. We have never even kissed, let alone…that. How am I supposed to feel?’

‘You are not a virgin,’ Grant pointed out. He looked faintly wary, she was glad to see. So he should be. He is lucky I am not throwing The Caledonian Bandit by Miss Smith at his head. It is all it is fit for.

‘Clearly not.’ She had her breath back now the robe had ceased its descent. ‘But I am not at all experienced. I…I became pregnant very quickly.’ She tried to recall what she had told him about her lover. Lying was so alien and so difficult. ‘And we could not meet often.’

‘I’m not a virgin, either, of course. I don’t expect you to hold that against me. But you are not at all experienced?’ He seemed to be pleased by that. Men were strange creatures.

‘Yes. I mean, no.’ It had been lovely to be in Jonathan’s arms, to be able to show her feelings for him, of course it had. While it lasted, before disillusion set in. But even at the height of her short-lived infatuation he had never made her feel so agitated, so confused as this did. And it had not been such a wonderful experience that she was desperate to repeat it, so why did she want Grant to shrug off that robe, come to bed and just— ‘So, yes, I was apprehensive. I am still. But now I think it would be better to simply get it over with.’

‘Get it over with,’ Grant repeated, his voice flat. ‘Your expectations do not appear to be very high.’ His hands had gone to the ties of his robe. Now they stilled.

‘I am sure you make love very nicely,’ Kate said politely, wishing the soft feather mattress would simply swallow her up. Now she had insulted him. No man was going to take well the suggestion that his lovemaking was anything but magnificent. Very nicely? Of all the things to say…

‘I have not had any complaints recently.’ Grant straightened up from his relaxed slouch against the bedpost.

Recently? From his mistress, I suppose. Does that mean his late wife… Pride made her bite back the question. ‘I just thought it would be better to—’

‘Get it over with. Yes, I grasp the point that flirting and courting and giving you time to get accustomed to me may not be the best way to go about this and that you really wish it was all over.’ He stood up and tugged the knot in the sash free. ‘But you do wish me to come to your bed?’

‘Yes. Of course. Lights?’ It came out as a squeak. The branch of candles was still alight on her dressing table and the little oil lamp by the bed cast a warm, but revealing, glow over the snowy expanse of sheets.

‘We have confided that neither of us is a virgin. I think we can cope with the shock of nudity.’ Grant shrugged off the robe. He sounded less than happy.

Kate closed her eyes, then, when there was no sound of movement, opened them again. Grant was standing there, hands on lean hips, waiting, she supposed, for her to faint, scream or dive under the covers. She did none of those things, just stared at his admirably flat stomach, then, when she thought her breathing was under control, let her gaze slide lower.

He was not as aroused as he had been in the drawing room when he had been sucking her finger, but then he was probably finding her so infuriating that it was killing his desire. Kate realised suddenly that she did not want that. She wanted Grant to make love to her, here, now and with enthusiasm. His eyebrows lifted as she threw back the covers, reached for the hem of her nightgown and dragged it over her head in one ungainly movement.

When she made herself meet his gaze she found he had not moved, but the green eyes were dark beneath lowered lids and his mouth was curved into a crooked smile that held both approval and a promise.

‘Right from when we first met, I knew you had courage,’ Grant said as he closed the distance between them. He lay down beside her and, to her enormous relief, pulled the covers up over their bare bodies. She was very aware that the last time she had lain with a man she had not given birth to a child and that this man had once been married to a woman who, if Kate had discovered nothing else about her, had been a beauty.

The warmth of his body as he lay beside her was comforting, but her nerves were jangling and she just wished he would get on with it. ‘Have you changed your mind?’ she asked.

‘No.’ Grant turned so he was on his side facing her and moved closer, until the evidence of just how much he had not thought better of this was branding itself to her hip. ‘I was giving you the opportunity to dive out of the other side of the bed if you had changed yours.’

Afterwards Kate had no idea whether it had been nerves, hysteria or simply her old sense of the ridiculous reasserting itself, but she found herself laughing. ‘Like a scene in a French farce,’ she managed between gasps of mirth. ‘In and out of bedrooms, in and out of bed…’

‘You have obviously been watching far more risqué farces than I have,’ Grant said with a grin, and then, before she had stopped laughing, before the nerves could seize her again, he rolled her on to her back and kissed her.

Kate was open-mouthed on a gasp of laughter and Grant took advantage of her parted lips to take possession, his tongue sliding in to stroke hers, his lips warm and firm and demanding. For a first kiss it was anything but tentative, but nor was it impatiently demanding. Here I am, Grant seemed to be saying. I want you, you want me. Shall we?

Her body knew the answer, it seemed. Her arms curled around his neck, pulling him closer as her tongue stroked against his. Yes. He felt so different, so new. Taller and more muscular than Jonathan, his hands slower, yet more assured, his taste absolutely new and very arousing. Her hands slid over his shoulder and the right one encountered long, rough tracks of scar tissue. Grant shrugged away from her touch and she took the hint, curling her fingers around his neck instead. Then she forgot all about scars.

When Grant broke the kiss, gathering her in against his chest, she rubbed her cheek against the dusting of coarse hair, learning his scent. Citrus from the soap he had washed with, a faint hint of leather, a distant tang of brandy, a musk that was very male, very much him. The scent she remembered from that long desperate night when he had sat close beside her and she had clung to his hand, patterning it with bruises, spiced now with arousal.

‘That tickles,’ he said, his voice a rumble under her cheek. His hands were beginning to stray, down over her hips, up across her ribs, curving around her buttocks. Kate let her own fingers wander, exploring the flat stomach, dipping into his naval, which made him gasp with laughter, running up and down the thicker line of hair, not daring to follow it all the way.

Grant seemed content to let her roam, but his own hands became more purposeful, stroking up over the curve of her breasts, rubbing across her nipples just enough to make them peak and tingle, then down to brush the curls at the apex of her thighs.

Kate began to move, restless, and found her fingers were gripping Grant’s hips. Jonathan had been faster, more urgent, rougher. Did Grant not want her with the same desire?

His lips closed over one aching nipple and she moaned, arching up against him. She felt his lips curve into a smile and then shivered with nerves as he shifted and pressed one hand gently between her thighs, opening her.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, the words vibrating against the puckered skin of her nipple, and his teeth nipped gently as he slid one finger into her. Then his thumb found the place that Jonathan had rubbed against so impatiently. Only, Grant was gentle, teasing, and the raw, almost intolerable sensation became one of pulsing sweetness mixed with a desperation that had her squirming against his hand.

‘Shh, slowly, slowly,’ he murmured against her neck.

But she did not want to be slow. She wanted him now, wanted the more that she could sense, just out of her reach. Her right hand moved from his hip, stroked down, touched the heated flesh and stroked again until he groaned aloud.

‘If you do that—’

‘Yes,’ Kate urged. ‘I want… I don’t know. I need…’

Grant’s weight was a fresh arousal as their bodies touched down their entire lengths, hot skin against hot skin. He shifted, lifted on his elbows and then, holding her gaze with his, sheathed himself within her.

‘Ah…sweet Kate.’ He closed his eyes, dropped his head so his forehead rested on hers and held still. She felt the tension vibrating through him as she grasped the broad shoulders, tilted her head so her lips found his. The urgent need to move became a longing for peace as she lay there, so close, so much at one with him. She let her body encompass his, ease around it, holding him within her.

When he began to move it was at first so slow, so gentle, that she hardly realised that her own body was rocking with his, yielding to the slow thrusts, the need building again as she released the hard flesh only to accept him back with a soft gasp of pleasure. The rhythm increased until she was clinging to him, gasping as they rode the gathering, building storm together.

Grant shifted, lifted her against him, and the pressure built until she was curled around him, her ankles locked at the small of his back, striving desperately to catch hold of whatever it was that was tormenting her so deliciously, promising something that was just out of reach. And suddenly she broke apart, heard herself cry out, felt Grant tense and arch over her, and then the world went black, save for the lights in the darkness behind her lids as she let go and flew.

What had just happened? Kate lay in the circle of Grant’s arm, her cheek against his chest. His skin was damp, his heartbeat strong, rapid, but slowing as she sensed him drifting into sleep.

What had happened? she asked herself again, lying wide-eyed in the flickering candlelight. She hardly knew this man except as the Good Samaritan who had saved her that bleak Christmas. Saved her, saved her child, turned her life upside down. Yes, he was an attractive man, but a man with secrets, a man with barely hidden darkness in his soul.

She had married him, accepted the protection of his name, his status and his wealth. Accepted, too, that she had a duty as his wife to lie with him and perhaps, if she was fortunate, to bear a child of his. And I had become excited by the thought of him, she admitted to herself. Aroused. Which was good, because it would have been hard to accept lovemaking with a man for whom she could feel no attraction.

But this wonderful physical experience—where had that come from? She had known Jonathan a little, liked him, thought she loved him, considered him a handsome man and had been eager to go to his arms. Yet his passion had left her strangely untouched, unsatisfied, confused. I talked myself into love with him, didn’t I? Kate told herself. But she did not love this man, either, so what was the difference? Why did I not burn up in Jonathan’s arms as I did with Grant?

Because Grant is the better lover, of course. So it was all a matter of technique, of arousal, and in her imaginings when she met Jonathan she had told herself the romantic lies that it was all about love.

Kate turned away from the comfort of the warm, strong body beside her to lie on the edge of the bed on cold sheets. I deserve the chill, the nagging little voice of her conscience chided. Wanton. ‘Jonathan,’ she whispered. What a fool she had been, how eager to experience love, when really what she had been seeking was this, this physical delight. And as a result of her naivety and Henry’s cynical scheming she had been ruined and was now hundreds of miles from home, living a lie.


That had been…incredible. Grant let himself drift in utterly relaxed drowsiness, his body boneless with sensual pleasure. He had never expected it, never thought that Kate would catch alight in his hands, that her body would answer his with that joyful, urgent sensuality.

She curled against him now, warm, soft. Kate, his wife, who did not react to his kisses and caresses as though forcing herself to yield to her duty, but as though she wanted to join him in creating magic. To find a compatible lover was not such a novelty, but to find that, quite by chance, he had married a woman who took and gave with such sweet, almost innocent, eroticism, that was a miracle.

Kate moved, turned away, and he woke fully to see she was lying, her back to him, on the edge of the bed. ‘Oh, Jonathan…’ He caught the faint whisper and even with that thread of sound, the unhappiness.

Something cold and heavy lodged in his stomach. Disappointment? Jealousy? So, Kate was still in love with Anna’s father, still mourning him, which must explain her shyness and confusion earlier. Now she was feeling guilty for enjoying making love with her husband.

Because she had enjoyed it, that was not arrogance on his part—even the most accomplished courtesan could not have feigned that reaction. Grant reached out his hand to touch her shoulder, then drew it back before his fingers reached the curve of exposed skin. Reluctant to intrude, he turned on his side away from Kate’s tense body and pulled the covers up over both of them. If he touched her now, she would think it was a demand for more sex. If he tried to console her, then she would know he had heard that whisper. He had no idea what to say to make things any better. At least now he understood her strange mood, the evidence of interest, of arousal, and yet the fear that forced her to ask for his presence in her bed had driven her to want to get it over with.

Grant got up, went to snuff the candles, doused the bedside lamp, pretended that he believed Kate was fast asleep as he fought down the dark mood that threatened to grip him. It was unreasonable, to feel…hurt. He was not in love with Kate and she had made no pretence of marrying him for anything other than the protection of his name for her child, so in no sense was he betrayed or deceived. She did not dislike him, he was certain, and she was certainly not repelled by him. It was simply that she had been in love with someone else, someone for ever out of her reach. And now she was making the best of the circumstances. In effect he had married a widow and done so before she’d had a proper chance to mourn.

But how to mend this marriage? He had the summer and the autumn, that was all. Then they must go to London, he would take his seat in the House of Lords and Kate must learn to be a peer’s wife, a society hostess. They could do it as virtual strangers—after all, many marriages functioned like that—but it was not how he wanted his marriage to be and it was not how he wanted the children to grow up, in a household with parents who were distant and cool with each other.

A hideous accident had taken Madeleine before Charlie’s life could be blighted by his parents’ unhappiness, but Grant was not prepared to risk it again. He could live without a wife’s affection, certainly without her love, but somehow, for the sake of the children, he was going to have to make this work and make Kate happy, or, at the very least, content.

Regency Christmas Courtship

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