Ravishing Ruby (13 page)

“Then you'll understand the day I've had—and that does not even begin to include the other things I must do, the important things, the cargoes I must arrange, the warehouse I must be assured is emptied, the merchants I must deal with. I was away far longer than I meant and everything is stacked up—and the delays, the endless delays. And with the
Dawn's Light
having had time for an extra journey, I've got far stranger inventory that I had imagined. For some reason I don't know, Timms decided to fill a galley with terra-cotta pots in Spain. What am I going to do with three thousand terra-cotta pots?”

“So Anne, the fiancée you have never mentioned, does not count as important?” The bitterness was leaking through. There was nothing she could do to hold it back.

“Are we back to arguing? Of course she's important. And I've never mentioned her because she has nothing to do with us.”

Nothing to do with them? Did he really feel that way? He probably did. He did like things simple. “I am not sure who is the fool here,” she said. “You for thinking that she doesn't matter or me for thinking she does. What I do know is that you should have told me.”

“I never think of her when I am here.”

“I don't know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult.” If only she could find her sense of calm, of peace. She could not allow herself to be so upset—but how could she hold it back when she felt the sharp edge of the dagger in her heart? Calm. She must find calm. It must not end like this.

“Can't we just let this go?” Derek asked, his tone soft. “It has nothing to do with us.”

Ruby rose and arranged her skirts about her. She walked toward the door.

“Are you leaving? Do you expect me to leave? I can assure you that my marriage does not matter.”

“Yes. No. And you are a fool.”

Derek stood, rising to his full height. “You make me want to leave. My head is beginning to ache. This is not what I wanted for this evening.”

“I would have to say that it is not what I had in mind either. I must attend to business. I have been neglectful these last nights. I thought I would walk you up the stairs and make you comfortable to wait for my return.”

She watched him open his mouth and then close it. Biting back a retort?

“If you would rather you may leave,” she said, after a moment. “I certainly cannot keep you if you wish to go.”

He took a step toward her. “No, despite this foolishness, I do not wish to leave.”

“Good. I would like you to stay—at least for tonight. After that I do not know.” And that was truer than she liked to admit. At this moment she knew nothing.

Running a hand through his already rumpled curls, he paused. “What does that mean?”

She turned back to the door, did not look at his face. She would give him the honesty he had denied her. “Would you believe me if I said I did not know? I always swore I would not sleep with a married man and I have held to that. I will not be my mother, nor will I do that injury to another woman.”

He reached out and placed a hand upon her arm. “Do you really think Anne would care?”

She stepped away, letting his fingers fall from her arm. “I do not know, but that is not the point.”

“Then…?”

“I said I do not know. Do not push me now or I will send you away. If you were already married I know what I would do despite all temptation. I must figure out how to react to the almost married—and to the fact that you did not find it important enough to tell me.”

“I would have told you if I was married—only I wouldn't have been here if I was married. I do intend to take that vow seriously.” He did not sound happy.

“I am glad of that. You do seem a man to take a promise seriously. Now, let Simms take you up and I will join you shortly. I am putting you in the duke's room in honor of our first night together. I hope you enjoy the shower bath again.”

“I was rather thinking of the tub. I will always remember how you looked in damp linen.”

A bitter smile twisted upon her lips. “Did you know even then that you were off to Manchester to find a wife?”

“I was off to Manchester to find a weaving machine—but yes, I knew that a wife might come with it. I had not fully decided how I would respond.”

It was hard to know if that was better or worse. Would it matter if it had all been resolved before they ever met? She hated the thought that he would ever have sought out a brothel with the commitment already settled, but it was not better to think that he had decided to marry another after meeting her.

She knew she was not a woman who men would marry, but she did not need to have the dagger thrust repeatedly into her breast.

“Go with Simms,” she said. “I will join you when I can.”

Was she coming? Derek lay sprawled upon the great bed, still fully dressed. He wouldn't blame her if she did not. Why had he ever mentioned Anne? He certainly had not meant to, but he did not think it had been a complete slip either; his innate sense of honesty had won out. The situation had made him uncomfortable and he could not regret that the truth was finally known.

But was she coming?

His stomach roiled at the thought she might not. He was not prepared for it to be over.

He wiped a hand up his face. Only what did it matter? There was nowhere for them to go. These last days might have been some of the best of his life, but that didn't mean they could last. He would have said goodbye to her when he wed. Granted he'd also be heading back to Rhode Island, so the choice would not have been difficult. But regardless, he did believe in being faithful, even to a wife who was not of his choice. He wasn't quite sure how he felt about a fiancée. That was not the same as a wife.

There was nothing wrong with continuing with his lover until the vows were said.

He'd spoken truthfully when he'd said Anne would not mind. She'd made it clear that all she cared about was that he could keep her in the manner to which she was accustomed and that the match would be profitable for her family. She'd been much less sure about moving to the colonies—as she so graciously described his homeland.

Footsteps in the hall, light, feminine.

He waited.

No, they had passed. They were not Ruby's.

He rubbed his eyes, suddenly weary. Perhaps he should just head back to his rented rooms.

Even if Ruby did appear, what could he expect? He certainly did not wish to…

Hell, he didn't even know what he wished. He swung off the bed and began to pace about the room, a caged wolf. It should have been so easy, come back, spend a few nights with Ruby, and then forget about her. Only it was impossible to forget about her; she dominated his thoughts.

Perhaps it was best to make a clean break. There was a decent chance that she was going to send him packing anyway. She'd not been pleased before he told her about Anne—and after…Well, he could hardly blame her. Most people might have found it unreasonable that a woman in her profession would care about a wife or even an almost wife, but he did understand Ruby's position and her past.

Yes, she would probably…

And then he heard the water splash.

He turned to the door leading down to the bathing chamber.

Ruby had told him there were only two doors to the room, one from this chamber and one from her own. Could Ruby…? The footsteps he'd heard in the hall. Where was her room? He'd never inquired. Could it be…? His mind skipped from thought to thought.

His feet needed no such delay. He walked to the door and placed his hand upon the handle, his mind filled with images of their first encounter, of Ruby attired in damp linen kneeling above him in the bath, of her breasts pressing tight against the fabric, of her pale nipples showing through, of the shadow between her legs—and of her face damp with steam, her lips full from kisses, her eyes heavy with passion.

His cock thickened against his leg, the sharp edge of desire biting into him.

The handle twisted easily beneath his hand, the dark wood door easing open. Steam and the scent of soft perfume met him. His boots clicked as he tread down the white marble stairs that led into the chamber. The shower bath stood empty before him. Steam rose in a wafting column from its bucket, but no slender body stood ready to receive the gentle flow of rain.

He turned to the large brass tub. At first he thought it was empty, but then he heard another splash, saw the long, delicate foot curl over the edge.

He knew that foot.

The thought made him smile. He'd never thought to recognize a woman by her foot.

He stepped closer.

A slender hand gripped the edge of the tub, and then slowly the wet woman rose, water streaming from long blond curls. Suds still clung about her neck and chin. She didn't look at him but picked up the brass cup and began to pour water over her head, letting it trail down her face and chest, washing the suds away.

Her eyes were closed, the now pale lashes spiky against her cheeks. Blond curls clung to her neck. Another cup of water. Another splash. The smell of perfume was stronger now, filling the room like a garden. There must be oil in the water.

The very scent had his cock swelling even more, his balls drawing high. It was her scent. He doubted he'd ever smell it again without his body reacting.

Another step.

He could see down into the tub, see the soft swell of breasts half covered by water, the small waves of her movement dancing about the barely submerged nipples. The lower half of her body was more hidden by the water, but his memory filled in what his eyes could not see.

She set down the cup and leaned back, shaking her damp hair over the edge of the tub. The foot that lay on the edge of the tub moved, her thighs opening wider.

His gaze dropped down into the water, to the treasured secrets that it hid. One of her arms moved beneath the rippling surface. He swallowed as he understood its movement, understood the small gestures as it slipped between her legs.

Her other hand, the one that had held the cup, moved to her breast, cupping and stroking, the middle finger rising to circle the still-soft nipples. Her head fell back, her lips parting, her breath whispering through the steam as it rose from the tub.

Her fingers kept gliding over the smooth flesh, small circles and then larger ones. She plucked lightly on the nipple, elongating it and then letting it fall back. Her fingers splayed across the whole breast and then returned to the nipple, plucking and releasing, plucking and releasing.

His heart began to pound to that same rhythm.

He didn't know whether to continue watching or to join in. His body knew what it wanted to do, but his mind would have been very happy to watch her subtle movements for hours.

One more step. He could see under the water more clearly as he stared straight down, see the fingers tight between her legs, see the movement, the rub, the squeeze, the deep press. Her thighs parted further, her fingers moved deeper.

He wanted to lift her from the tub, to spread her across the hard marble floor, to cover her with his body, to thrust hard in, to feel her softness tight around him, to…His hand came to the front of his breeches. He stroked himself through the now tight fabric, feeling himself swell further beneath his hand.

Her fingers moved faster, his followed the pace.

A groan left his lips, uncontrolled.

Her eyes opened, met his, and then swept down, stopping to linger on his tented breeches, on the hand working hard. She bit down on her lip, pulled harder upon her nipple, the tip red and swollen now.

With slow deliberation she lifted the foot that still remained in the tub and set it upon the other edge, leaving her legs spread wide and raised.

It grew hard to swallow.

She looked at him, looked at the empty space in the tub, looked back at him.

He turned and glanced about the room, saw the stool. Sat. His boots hit the floor within a minute.

Then his shirt.

Then his breeches.

Her gaze dropped to his belly. He could feel her glance glide over his dragon, feel her intake of breath, watched as her eyes grew hazy with desire. Her stomach quivered beneath her look. She bit down harder.

He took his cock in hand again and stroked long and slow.

Her tongue came out, licking along her lower lip. He could almost feel it move again across the dragon's scales.

He stepped into the tub, watching as the water rose to lap her breasts.

Her hands came to rest upon her spread knees, then with slow deliberation slid up her parted thighs.

With care he lowered himself into the water. It rose hot and steamy about him.

His legs slid beneath hers, causing hers to rise higher. His gaze focused on that almost visible spot between them.

Her hands slid further up her thighs, stopping just inches away, just beneath the surface of the water.

The last time they'd been in this room they had not spoken, they'd done everything else, but not a word had passed between them.

This time he needed words. “Am I forgiven for not telling you about Anne, then?”

Her eyes came up and he saw clarity return to them, and for a moment he wished he could pull back the words.

“Yes,” she said after a moment. “But forgiveness is not all. I understand why you didn't tell me, understand your thoughts, but it does not change the reality of the situation.”

“But…”

“Is this really what you wish to talk of now? Morning will come too soon and I thought you might have other ideas on how to spend these last few hours.”

Last few? Surely she didn't mean…Only he knew she did.

A strange bittersweetness took him. He let his head fall back, stared up at the marble tiles that lined the room, at the pale candlelight reflected off hazy glass.

This was the end.

It was coming sooner than he had prepared for it—but he had known it was coming.

He brought his head back, looked into Ruby's half-closed eyes, sapphires gleaming in the soft light. There was sadness there—and acceptance.

He swallowed. He had not expected the pain that filled his gut.

This had always been going to end. It was not even supposed to last that first night.

A small, sweet smile formed upon her lips. Her arms came to the sides of the tub and she pushed forward, leaned in toward him.

He found himself matching her gesture, moving to her.

They stopped then, inches apart. He could feel her breath upon his lips, see the tiny, dark speckles that marked the blue of her eyes.

It was a moment to last forever.

It was a moment that was already over.

They moved together. Lips met in the softest, the sweetest of kisses.

There was no hurry, no need to go further. It was almost a first love's kiss, that kiss that explores and wants, but never presses, that kiss where every moment, every second, is new and fresh and to be treasured.

Full and lush, her lips moved beneath his, barely parting, but offering everything.

He pressed tighter, feeling her give, feeling her willingness to be in this moment with him.

This was not what she'd intended. She'd intended another night of careful seduction and games, from the moment she'd sent Derek upstairs she'd pictured the moment that he'd find her in the tub, she pictured him still in his white linen, her flesh naked and damp, had imagined their coming together, the long caress, the erotic glances, hot flesh and cool marble.

She had not dreamed of the honesty, of this vulnerability.

There was nothing hidden in this slow kiss, in this banked passion, this sense of inevitability.

She leaned forward, letting the tips of her breasts touch his chest. Swaying back and forth, she allowed the sensation to build, enjoyed each tiny dart of lightning that shot through her. There was no need to go faster, no sense of the frantic.

It was as different from that earlier encounter in the parlor as anything could be.

She puckered her lips, kissed him again and then again, tasting, savoring.

Then it was his lips that parted, her tongue that drifted in, that pondered the slickness of tooth, the velvet of inner cheek, the sheer taste and sensation that was him.

When his tongue met hers, stroked hers, danced with hers, there was no pressure, no sense of speed and fury.

This moment, the next, and the one after that were all one, were all endless.

His arms slipped around her, caressing and cradling.

She'd never felt so cared for, so safe.

He pulled her closer, her legs slipped down, and then she felt herself lifted, turned, until she was seated on his lap. She could feel his erection between her buttocks, but it, too, lacked urgency. It was there. It was part of him, part of this whole thing, but there was no need to worry, to hurry.

She kissed him again, pouring all her caring, all her wanting, all her dreams into that single meeting of lips.

He pulled back a second, his eyes open and watching. It seemed he could see all the wishes she'd ever had, all the fantasies, that he could see Emma dreaming of her prince and respectability and young love, see Ruby working to be independent, to be her own woman, to take what she wanted from life and relish it—and even Afya, born only a few nights ago, born with only one goal: to please her master, her sultan, her man. They were all her and in that second she believed he saw them, understood them, cherished them.

“I wish the world was a different place.” His words were quiet, not a whisper and yet still barely heard.

“A place where we could meet and love and be together and know no judgment.”

“You know I do not judge you, Ruby. You are a woman and nothing more.”

She let her lids close then, considered his words and how to reply. “I do know—now. I cannot say that I have always felt that way. Your recent actions have sometimes told a different story, and yet I do believe that if we could stay in this moment there would be nothing but the two of us, and you would want for nothing more, for no one more.”

She felt his hand upon her face, the stroke of his thumb down her cheek. “I never want for more than this, Ruby. But it is not my own wants that determine my life. I am no longer a child who thinks the Earth revolves around me.”

Had she ever thought that way? Perhaps once, secure in her father's love, before she understood that even love had limits, limits that could not be crossed. That what one wanted, what one believed in, and what one could have were not the same thing.

She kissed him again. There was nothing else to do, nothing that words could answer.

They had tonight, and only tonight. It was not choice; it was simply what was.

The world would never let them be together in any way but this—and this would never be enough, not for her. She could not live only in the shadows. Madame Rouge might be a creature of night, but she was not of the shadows. She stood fully in the light. It might be candlelight and not sunlight, but she refused to be hidden.