Clockwork Blue (49 page)

Her bodice slipped and
her hair fell from its pins to hang
becomingly
about her flushed face.

He
wanted to make that blush be the result of his attentions rather than from her exertions.
"
If you attack my trousers with the same enthusiasm, I
'
ll be a man blessed.
"

He couldn
'
t help but see the dark humor of the whole situation. For him to be matched with a woman so full of life and vigor was too much by half. If she had been his mistress, he could have
enjoyed
her, then paid her a handsome stipend and left her to her machinations with no more expectations. But he would have to be careful. If he allowed a wife to get too close, or if he gave in to temptation and tried to get nearer to her, he would be her ruin. He would be responsible for
ye
t another person
'
s demise.

"
Can
'
t get to the breeches until I have your other boot off,
"
she replied, breathless.
"
Perhaps this one will come off easier, now that I have experience.
"

He shuddered to think what she would be like with experience.

Holding his other leg between her own, she grabbed his Hessian, applying the correct angle to his heel so that she retained her balance as it slid off. Her widened stance and the
apple-
shape of her slim rump as it jutted toward him proved to be too much. Before he co
uld stop himself, his stocking
foot trailed a path up the inside of her calf, gliding along the silkiness of her skin.

She
ye
lped.
"
Whatever are you doing?"
Her legs snapped together, trapping his foot between her thighs, tantalizingly close to her core. If he wiggled his toes—

As if burned, she jumped away.

With great interest, he noted her high color. His own breath had quickened.
"
I was merely following through on your
very
thorough strategy.
"

"
My plan is that you can
'
t participate,
"
she said.

He stared at her.
"
You
'
d miss a very vital part the process, then.
"

"
I know what I
'
m doing,
"
she stated and firmed her jaw.
"
Now, stand please.
"

He did as she bade, wondering if she would attack his trousers next.

"
How did you
r skin become
so dark?
"
she asked, staring at his chest.

"
India is hot. There aren
'
t as many social restrictions in the hills where there
'
s no British cantonment.
"

"
What do you mean by that?
"

He shrugged.
"
In the wilderness I
enjoyed
riding in nothing but breeches.
"

Her e
ye
s widened in fascination as tangib
le as a caress. A
vision
popped in his mind
of her in a silk toga, her long legs bare and wrapped around his waist as he rode his black stallion.

She stared at his trousers and the painful bulge that had developed there.
"
Forget the breeches. Your shirt,
"
she muttered, the muscle in her jaw jumping before she grabbed his
shirttails and raised them. She was too short and couldn
'
t begin to pull the garment over his head. But he didn
'
t say a word. Some perverseness wanted to see what she
would
do without any help. Her scent of wildflowers and the out of doors tantalized him. The nearness of her breasts tortured him. Her breath stirred the dark hairs on his chest, making him tremble like an untamed stallion. He clamped down on his desire, welcoming the punishment of self-denial.

Her hands skimmed his chest and her mouth was close, very close to the throbbing vein in his neck. He felt a butterfly touch under his ear and wondered if she
'
d brushed the tender skin with those lush lips.
"
Lift your arms.
"

He complied, doing exactly as she asked but no more, waiting to see what would happen. Could a person die from want? The thought intrigued him.

Her slender, bare hands traveled up under his shirt, skimming close to the vulnerable undersides of his arms, then continued up the length of his biceps. Heat radiated between them and she suddenly stopped, looking at him from the comer of her e
ye
, standing quite still.

"
Ummm, I don
'
t think this is going to work,
"
she said breathlessly, not daring to turn her head. The delicate shell of her ear was tantalizingly close to his lips. Before she could pull her arms out from under his sleeves, he hugged her, efficiently trapping her within his shirt. When she looked at him, he gave in to his desires and did what he
'
d wanted to do for days.

With a hard kiss, he tumbled her onto the bed.

She started for a moment, jerking back her head, then returned
the kiss. He was lost. Vital
aware
ness washed over him of
her
pert breasts crushed against his chest
. The pearly hardness of her nipples caused shivers of passion to tighten his whole body. He maneuvered his leg between hers and felt the swift intake of her breath. Then she hooked one limb around him, and he swirled into mindless
haze of pleasure
.

He deepened the kiss, taking her tongue into his mouth.
Desire
pierced through him in hot, jagged streaks, the joining of their lips lighting firecrackers too intense to look at, but too beautiful to not see. Heat as powerful as the Indian sun burned between them. His
tongue delved inside, finding and claiming hers.

Flames leaped from her innocent lips to his jaded ones, the chemistry of her taste creating
pure steam
energy, causing a combustible reaction similar to gunpowder, and just as deadly. He wanted to strip her of all barriers, to feel her skin against him. But he was having a devil of a time because his arms didn
'
t seem to work. They were tangled somehow.
Then he remembered how she'd
goad
ed
him into being a true husband and his perverse urge to meet her challenge.

The old guilt over his brother
'
s death rose up to suffocate him, the undeserved title he was forced to carry, his vow to remain aloof to life
'
s joys, for she was surely that,
bright sunshine and happiness. A
ll these thoughts swirled around him like a black cloud. No, he could never be a husband in reality to her.

As the realization cooled his ardor, he acknowledged how dangerous she was. She
'
d made him forget who and what he was.

Malcolm
inhaled sharply and sat up. Then he straightened his arms, shaking them to free her. Slowly she withdrew, her lips swollen from his kisses and her
eyes
smoky with desire. It took all his willpower not to draw her into his embrace again.

Abruptly, he stood, avoiding her gaze.
"
That is the general idea of the business of baby making.
"

Silence greeted him. He sat down on the sofa and began pulling on his boots, those damnable, skintight boots that had caused all the trouble in the first place.

"
I know there
'
s more,
"
she said, her tone bewildered and hurt.

His hands trembled with unfulfilled passion as he yanked on his other Hessian.
"
We
'
ll resume our business in a fortnight.
"

"
Two weeks? Why not now?
"

Her eagerness was enough to tempt a eunuch—and he was no eunuch.
"
You have a lot to learn about the art of seduction, Countess. It has to do with timing. And the timing of our union is all wrong.
"

"
Wrong? It felt right to me.
"

Damnation, it did to him, too. All his self-command had to be exerted on not letting out a shout of needy desire.
"
Ye
s, it
'
s not time for making a babe
ye
t.
Your...
crescendo
isn't
ready.
"
He didn
'
t know where that term came from, but he couldn
'
t trust himself with her. He had to give her some excuse, any excuse; to escape from her allure, even if he had to fabricate something. She was too pure, too innocent, and he knew with a certainty that he would forever ruin her if he didn
'
t get away now.

"
My what?
"

"
Your crescendo
.
"
He felt foolish for his silly fib, but he didn
'
t know what to do about it now.