Dangerous to Kiss (39 page)

His words became more erotic, and she felt herself yield to that dark and sensual part of him that was so blatantly male. As she yielded, raining wild kisses over his face and shoulders, she could feel his control slipping away.

With a soft cry, she arched, hovering on a crest of unbearable pleasure. He gave her what she needed. Locking her to him in an inseparable embrace, he rode her to a furious, shattering climax that made them both cry out. Beneath him, Deborah shuddered for a long time after, then her whole body gradually went lax.

Later, when he pulled from her and rolled to his side, she gave a small, replete sigh and promptly fell asleep.
He smiled, seeing in this a pattern that had already become established between them. He lowered his mouth to her bruised lips, kissing them softly. Her eyes opened slowly and she gazed up at him.

“I expect you to do the honorable thing,” he said.

“What?”

“Marriage, Deb. It’s the only possible way for us.”

“Kendal, do you never give up?”

“Never.”

She managed a smile, but already she was slipping into sleep. “I’ll think about it,” she murmured, and edged closer till she was half sprawled over him.

One of them had to stay awake if only to make sure that she got back to her own room before the maid arrived with her morning chocolate. Smiling tolerantly, he propped himself against the pillows and decided he was feeling very pleased with himself. He was sure now, very sure, that he had finally overcome the mistrust and suspicion that had dogged them since he had abducted her. She had finally admitted she loved him. That was a decisive victory. She might not know it yet, but he had already won the war.

He thought about her father for a long time, wondering if it wouldn’t be wiser simply to call him out. It would give him a great deal of satisfaction to put a bullet in his brain. Whether Belvidere set things straight with the magistrates wasn’t crucial. He had meant what he’d told Deborah. It would never come to trial. But there would be a scandal and the suspicion of murder would always dog her heels. For Deborah’s sake, he would let the snake live.

Dismissing Belvidere from his mind, he turned his attention to the night Gil was murdered, and he retraced all that he had learned from Deborah when they had reenacted the murder in the library. He dwelled on that scene for a long time, carefully sifting through everything. And then he had it! The elusive thought that had teased him came sharply into focus, and with it, a face.

During the night, Quentin took a turn for the worse. Though his breathing was easier, he suffered from severe headaches, and the usual remedies had no effect. Deborah slept late and knew nothing of this till she came downstairs as the family was rising from the breakfast table.

The countess looked harried. “Dr. Tait is with him now,” she said. “Gray would not let us awake you. He said you were completely worn out. Don’t be alarmed, my dear. Gray has things well in hand.”

Deborah did not wait for breakfast, but hurried up the stairs to Quentin’s room. She had passed it on the way down, when the door was closed and she had assumed Quentin was asleep. Gray and the doctor were just coming out of the room when she stepped into the corridor, but beyond a few pleasantries, Dr. Tait had nothing to say to her. He and Gray turned aside and conferred in hushed tones.

She found Quentin sitting up in bed and drinking from a glass the tutor held to his lips. “A headache powder,” Mr. Jervis explained, “to ease the pain.”

“My head hurts, Deb,” said Quentin.

He moaned when he lay down, but he was asleep before Deborah had finished fussing with the pillows
and covers. His breathing was quite normal and that surprised her.

When Gray returned, he took her by the elbow and led her into the corridor. The look on his face alarmed her.

“What is it, Gray? What did Dr. Tait tell you?”

“He does not know how to diagnose Quentin’s illness.”

“Illness?” she said nervously.

“Headaches. I should have said headaches. Tait thinks they may be the result of the shock he got yesterday.”

“Oh God! What are we going to do?”

“Nothing, for the moment. They may pass. And if they don’t, Tait gave me the name of a man in town who may be able to help us.”

“What man?”

“He’s not a doctor exactly, though he goes by that title. He has a place, a hospice in Pall Mall, quite close to Bell’s Coffee Shop. Dr. Marchand. Have you heard of him?”

“No. His name sounds French.”

“He’s a Swiss, and a disciple of Dr. Mesmer.” To her blank look he added, “The famous Dr. Mesmer, you know, the miracle worker who has cured innumerable patients of disturbances of the psyche.”

She touched a hand to his sleeve. “Oh Gray, I don’t like the sound of this.”

“Deb, there’s nothing to worry about, I promise you. Marchand is a good man. Quentin will be in the best of hands. Don’t look so anxious. It might be nothing at all.”

His words reassured her, and she nodded.

With a quick look around to make sure they were unobserved, he took her in his arms and kissed her.

“What was that for?” she said when he released her lips.

“What was that for?” he chided, shaking his head. “Honestly, I don’t think there is an ounce of romance in a woman’s soul. That was because I love you. That was because you love me. That was because in two weeks’
time we can blazen to the world that Lord Kendal has captured the hand, if not the considerable fortune, of Lady Deborah Montague. I shall be the envy of every fortune hunter in the land.”

“What? I don’t remember saying I would marry you.”

“No, but you said you’d think about it, and if you have a grain of intelligence in that pretty head of yours, you’ll see it’s the right thing to do.”

“Since when did you become so straitlaced?”

“Since I fell in love with you. My mother told me how it would be. Alas, I was too young to understand.”

She wasn’t going to win this argument, so she changed direction. “What about your family?” she asked. “What are they going to think when they learn I have deceived them?”

“Don’t be such a worrier.” He smiled down at her. “Deb, that will be the least of what they think. They are going to start counting the months off on their fingers before our first child is born, knowing that we should have been married months ago.”

Her cheeks bloomed and he nodded. “Maybe we should be counting them too. Now, would you mind? I intend to catch up on the sleep I lost last night. There will be plenty of time later to discuss Dr. Marchand and whether or not we should consult him about Quentin.”

She spent what was left of the morning in Quentin’s room and was heartened that he slept peacefully. When Gray wakened, he joined her, and they shared a light repast together, but there was not the opportunity to talk further of Dr. Marchand. Leathe arrived at the house, asking for Deborah, and she went down to see him.

As soon as they were alone, he said, “I told you there would a way out of this maze, Deborah, and by Jove we found it.”

There was no answering smile on Deborah’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

“What is it?
You can ask me that when you know what Father is like? I was hoping you would talk some
sense into Gray. He seems to think that he has dealt with Father.”

“And so he has, or so he will. Father has finally met his match, Deborah. I’m convinced of it.”

“And if he hasn’t?”

“I will kill Father before I’d let him harm a hair of your head. I know Gray feels the same.”

She wanted to stamp her foot in sheer frustration. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was afraid for Leathe and Gray. Her father would find a way to punish them, or at the very least, he would try. There was no persuading Leathe, and finally she gave up trying.

It turned out that she was not the only reason Leathe had come calling. He and Meg had arranged to go for a walk, but only if they could find someone to chaperon them.

“Oh no, Leathe,” said Deborah. “You and Meg? Gray would never permit it.”

Leathe laughed. “Not only does he permit it, but he is the one who suggested it. No. We are not exactly the best of friends, but we are no longer at each other’s throats. Ask him if you don’t believe me.”

She was still trying to digest this when Gray and Meg entered the room together. Far from opposing the outing, Gray insisted that the change of air would do Meg and Deb a world of good.

“And while you are out,” he said, “why don’t you have a look around Sommerfield? I don’t believe you have seen the house yet, have you, Deb?”

A faint blush crept into her cheeks. The only part of Sommerfield she knew well was Gray’s bedchamber, and the laughter in his eyes told her that he knew what she was thinking. “No,” she said, and to cover her confusion, she added as an afterthought, “Perhaps Gussie would like to come with us?”

They chatted amicably while a footman went in search of her ladyship. Gray’s manner toward Leathe was natural; Leathe’s verged on the respectful; and Meg’s reserve had completely melted. Deb was humming under her breath when she went to fetch her coat.

“You’re leaving
today?”
Meg’s voice was low, but there was no mistaking her petulance. “But why so soon?”

Leathe directed a look at Deborah and Gussie, but they were so far ahead on the bridle path that there was no chance they could overhear his conversation with Meg. “I have some urgent matters to discuss with my solicitor. It’s only for a week or two. You’ll be back in town before I go north to look over my business enterprises, won’t you?”

“A week or two?” She spoke as though it were a hundred years. “Why don’t I persuade Mama to return to town now, then we could be together for longer?”

“No,” said Leathe. “We couldn’t see each other anyway. I’ll be too busy. And so will you. You told me you had fittings with your dressmaker, and shopping, and whatever females do to get ready for Christmas.”

“For the new season,” corrected Meg. “We shall be back here for Christmas, at Sommerfield. Will you come too?”

“No. Not unless your brother invites me.”

“I meant with the Derwents. You could stay with Matthew.”

“No. He’s coming to town with me.”

There was a pent-up silence, then Meg burst out, “You’ve changed your mind about me, haven’t you, Stephen?”

His look of astonishment calmed her fears. “Don’t be a goose,” he said. “The only thing that has changed is that your brother has given me permission to court you. That’s what it amounts to, Meg. I thought you’d be pleased. There’s no need for us to meet in secret, or to elope.”

“But Stephen, from what you told me, it could be months, even longer, before Gray gives his permission for us to marry.”

“That will give me time to set my affairs in order, look around for a suitable house for us and so on. I have
coal mines and cotton mills I’ve never set foot in, workers who have never set eyes on me, or I on them. It’s time I took control of my business enterprises. You were the one who wanted me to become respectable. You were the one who didn’t want to elope. So why all the objections?”

She laid a hand on his sleeve, halting him, and he turned to face her. “Not too respectable,” she said, “or I won’t know you.”

He grinned down at her. “Say that to me when we look in on Sommerfield on the way home.”

Her face brightened. “There’s a conservatory we could slip away to—”

“No!”

“It’s Deborah, isn’t it? She’s the one you love?”

He grabbed her when she would have turned away from him, and he made no attempt to shade what smoldered in his eyes. When he saw that she had read him correctly, he dropped his lashes and his expression became less intense.

“Meg, I may steal the odd kiss, but that is as much as I dare. Once I start touching you, I can’t stop myself, and you are no help at all.”

“But I like it when you touch me. I don’t want you to stop.”

“Try to understand. Your brother has put me on my honor-not in so many words, but by virtue of the fact that he has given me his trust. Six months. That’s all I am prepared to give him. That’s not too much to ask of us, is it? He’s giving me a chance to prove myself and I don’t intend to disappoint him.”

She looked up at him with an expression of arrested surprise. “Gray’s respect means that much to you?”

He shrugged. “Not as much as your respect. You loved me when I was at my worst, but you loved what was best in me. How did we get onto this? Can we talk of something else?”

She felt a tightness in her throat, remembering what he had told her of his early years, but she managed to speak without betraying the pity she knew he would
scorn. “And if Gray still doesn’t give us permission to marry?”

“Then he’s not the diplomat I thought he was. He knows I won’t hold off for longer than that.” He flicked a glance at Deborah and Gussie, then swiftly kissed her. “Simpleton,” he said. “Are you blind? Can’t you see it’s your own brother who loves Deborah, and she him?”

“That’s what everybody tells me, but you can’t deny that she is special to you, Stephen.”

They started walking again, and Leathe kicked a stone with the toe of his boot, sending it rolling toward the river. “She is special to me, but not in the way you think. In two weeks, I shall explain everything. And in six months, I swear I shall marry you, with or without your brother’s consent. Will you wait for me for six months, Meg?”