Just Wicked Enough (26 page)

Until he felt her warm tears running along his chest.

“Kate, please don’t do that.”

“I can’t help it. I’m so happy, so relieved—”

“And to think I worked so hard to make you happy. Had I known tears were to be my reward, I’d have not tried at all.”

She lifted her head and met his gaze. “You’d have tried. I’ve figured you out, Lord Falconridge. You concern yourself with everyone’s happiness except your own. Your misfortune was in marrying a woman who cared for only her own happiness. And never gave any thought to yours. I shall spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

It took all the strength he could muster to cradle her cheek. “Lie still and quiet. You need your rest. We’ll talk later.”

Nodding, she lowered her head to his shoulder. He began stroking her arm, the motion bringing as much comfort to him as he hoped it did to her.

“Your mother’s here,” she said quietly.

He stilled his hand and glanced around the room. “Where?”

“Presently in her room. I’ve hired servants. She’s never left alone. She’s come in to see you several times. She loves you.”

“She doesn’t even remember me, Kate.”

“Still, she does love you.”

He was too weary to argue. Instead he commanded, “Go to sleep.”

He felt somewhat better that she actually obeyed without question. Almost immediately he heard her gentle snoring. He thought he’d probably never been so clean in his entire life. The woman must have bathed him a thousand times in the past…how many days had it been? And she’d been by his side nearly the entire time. Only once had he awoken to not find her there. It must have been when she was fetching his mother. That was a situation he’d have to put back to rights. Only how could he even contemplate returning his mother to that awful life? He’d pay the builder extra to get the house finished as quickly as possible.

Other matters needed to be tended to as well. Most importantly the matter of their marriage.

I
t was several nights later before Michael finally found the strength to leave his bedchamber, not that he was fully recovered but he was damned tired of being bedridden, and the walls of his room were beginning to close in on him. And time spent with his wife was coming close to driving him mad.

He had a feeling—as loath as he was to admit it—that he was receiving from her the sort of treatment she’d received from him when they first married. There was a cautiousness to everything she said, everything she did. A distrust. A fear of opening her heart. No doubt a good deal of guilt.

He understood guilt, remorse, and the things it would cause a man to be willing to do to ease the burden of carrying both. It would make a man sell his pride to provide her with a haven. It would make a man try to guess a lady’s favorite color simply to please her.

He’d placed his mother in an asylum because he couldn’t be bothered to care for her.

He’d auctioned himself because he couldn’t be bothered to court a woman—and yet he’d found himself courting her anyway. He wasn’t certain when the appearance of courting had transformed into an earnest desire to win her over. Perhaps the first time he’d heard her laugh as she sat in mud. Or perhaps when her eyes had blazed as she informed him she wouldn’t continue to pay for his mistress, or the sympathy she’d expressed at learning he no longer had one. There were a thousand moments that shifted through his mind like an elaborate kaleidoscope and he was unable to pinpoint the exact one that had turned the tide on his affections toward her.

That she had cared for him during his recovery gave him hope. That he’d discovered her with another man made it impossible for him to hold on to it for any substantial length of time.

He had his valet prepare a bath for him, the water shallow, rising no higher than his hips, because his physician had warned him it was too soon to get his wound wet. It was healing nicely but would leave a nasty scar. Michael had yet to determine if he should look upon it as a badge of courage or stupidity.

Unencumbered by clothes, he lay with his back against one side of the copper tub, enjoying the warmth of the water, tempted to call for more. He’d instructed his valet to give him a few moments alone so he could simply enjoy the quiet of solitude. Kate had spent little time with him today, this evening, for which he was grateful. He needed to think and when she was with him, he couldn’t. Her presence overwhelmed his senses. As weak as he was, he found himself reacting to her nearness as though there was something he could do about it, as though he could find the strength to bring her pleasure, to bring it to both of them.

He heard the door click open. A little more time alone would have been nice, but he suspected Nesbitt was anxious to get his duties over with so he could retire for the night. Michael rubbed his hand over his rough beard. “I believe we’ll start with a shave.”

“Why now when you told me no earlier?”

At Kate’s voice, Michael quickly twisted around slightly, gasping when his body protested the awkward positioning. She had offered to shave him earlier, and while he longed for her attentions, he knew he was better off not receiving them. He needed to be strong, to lay down ultimatums, to—

“I wasn’t aware you had the skills to shave a man,” Michael groused.

“How difficult can it be?”

She gathered up his shaving cup, his straight-edged razor, and knelt beside the tub. “I might trim your hair afterward. It’s beginning to look a bit unwieldy.”

“It’s always unwieldy. Besides, we pay a man good money to take care of my needs. Fetch him.”

“I’ve already dismissed him for the night.” She was wearing a thin nightgown that revealed a hint of shadows. His body, miraculously, reacted. Perhaps he was more recovered than he realized.

“Kate—”

“I want to do this.”

“You’ve tended me enough.”

“But none of that was fun. I think this could be fun.” She was busy using his shaving brush to whip up his shaving lather as though he weren’t protesting, as though she’d made up her mind to do exactly as she pleased. But then that was her way—as she was accustomed to doing exactly as she pleased.

Only as she rose up on her knees and began to spread the lather over his jaw, he had to readily admit that her doing precisely as she wanted wasn’t exactly true. She’d not necessarily wanted to marry him. Her parents had insisted. She’d wanted to remain married to Wiggins. Her parents had denied that request. They’d somehow managed to arrange an annulment. Michael knew absolutely nothing about the process. Had Wiggins’s consent been needed? If they removed all of Michael’s funds, would he easily give Kate up?

Her brow was furrowed in concentration.

“Laughter usually accompanies fun…or perhaps even a smile,” he murmured.

She snapped her eyes up to his and offered him a slight grin. “I just want to make sure I do it right.” She set the brush in the cup and put it aside. She picked up the razor.

“Have you a clue what you’re doing?” he asked.

“When I was little, I’d watch my father.”

“You and he are close.”

She nodded. “I always wished I’d been born a son.”

“I’m rather glad you weren’t.”

He had the pleasure of watching her blush, and he was left to wonder how differently his marriage might have been had he married Jenny. She’d have never denied him the opportunity to offer her passion, but would she have allowed him to give her love?

“Why the stricken look?” Kate asked. “I assure you I’ll be very careful.”

“A pain in my side, nothing more.” A lie, easily spoken because the truth was almost beyond bearing. The cold jealousy, the icy fury he felt when he’d seen her with another man had nothing at all to do with the possibility of losing coins from his pockets. It had everything to do with losing her from his life.

He angled his chin, felt the steadiness in her hands as she scraped the blade along his throat, heard the rasp of bristly beard. Appearing civilized would do much to improve his well-being.

After a few scrapes, she went to dip the blade in water, to rinse it off—between his legs!

He’d barely opened his eyes in time to jerk back and grab her wrist. “Let’s not swish it around down there, shall we?”

She giggled, actually giggled. “I had no intentions of getting it anywhere near your”—she cleared her throat—“well, near your…”

“Still, use the water beside my hip.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

Did he?

Her smile withered as she returned to shaving him. “When you’re strong enough, you should visit with your mother.”

“Perhaps tomorrow. Before this moment, I looked like such a ruffian, I would have no doubt terrified her.”

“I was beginning to like the beard. Perhaps I should leave the mustache.”

“Perhaps you should not.”

“Have you given up on trying to please me?”

“If I wanted conversation I’d have gone to the parlor. I wanted a bath. That is usually managed in silence.”

“Getting shot puts you in a foul mood.”

“Kate—”

She pressed a finger to his lips. “I’ll be quiet…if it pleases you.”

If she was of a mind to be so agreeable, he considered insisting she leave. Instead he angled his head back and closed his eyes. He desperately wanted to be rid of the itching beard, and he wasn’t certain his hands were steady enough. He had moments when he felt completely recovered and others when he thought he’d be on the losing end if he entered into a fight with a kitten.

Her touch was gentle, not quite as sure as that of his manservant, but neither did Nesbitt smell as sweet. Kate had obviously had her own bath, was herself ready to retire for the night. He wondered if she’d come to say good night and found him in the tub as alluring as he’d once found her.

When she was finished, she wiped away the remaining lather with a warm, damp cloth, her breast pressing against his shoulder as though she needed the nearness to accomplish her task.

“Bend your head back farther and I’ll wash your hair.”

He did as she ordered, keeping his eyes closed, concentrating on the gentle kneading of her fingers against his scalp. He thought he could grow accustomed to the spoiling. Her hands weren’t as strong as Nesbitt’s, but they were still capable and much more pleasant. Why did valets have to be men anyway? Why could a man not have a female servant? Other than the impropriety, it was certainly a more pleasing experience. Surely a man could be expected to behave when being ministered to by a woman.

Although based on the tightening of his body, he might be giving a man credit for more control than he deserved.

When she’d finished using a towel to dry his hair, she began to wash his back, careful to avoid his wound, her fingers stroking and rubbing the slick soap over his shoulders, down his right side, around his buttocks. Over and over until he was surprised she’d not worn away the skin. She added a little more hot water before shifting over to begin work on other areas.

As her hands glided over his chest, he opened his eyes. She’d somehow managed to dampen her gown in strategic areas, her taut nipples pressing up against the wet fabric, leaving nothing at all to his imagination. His body hardened in response.

Her hand, wet and slick with soap, moved lower. He groaned and accepted her touch when he should have pushed her away.

“If you’re not careful, I’ll give you another mess to clean.”

“I have no intentions of being careful.”

He glared at her. “What game are you playing?”

“No game. I want to…pleasure you. The bath is only the prelude.”

“I don’t want to be pleasured.”

“I don’t think you have the strength to fight me on this.”

“I’m more recovered than you realize.”

“I wasn’t talking about physical strength.”

“What are you trying to prove?”

“I’m not trying to prove anything.”

She was obviously surprised by the harsh laughter echoing through the chamber, because her ministrations ceased, affording him the opportunity—with much less grace than he’d have liked—to get to his feet. He reached for the towel, only to have her snatch the towel from his hands.

“Step out of the tub and I’ll dry you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t do this, Kate. I’m not nearly as strong as I thought. I thought I understood the price I was paying when I decided to be auctioned but I hadn’t a clue.

“If I’m honest, I’m not as comfortable with our marriage as I thought I’d be. The reality is far different than I expected. I’ve tried to make the best of what I brought upon us. I’ve spent a good deal of my life in debt, but never have I felt I owed anyone as much as I owe you. It is overwhelming to owe one person so much. I find it more difficult than I imagined. I thought there was nothing you could ask of me that I would not grant. From the moment we exchanged vows, I became your servant. Someday, I’d hoped to rise to the level of your husband. But I know now that it’s an impossibility.

“Your heart will always remain with him”—he couldn’t bear to say the name—“and I thought I could accept that. But I can’t. I honestly believed your demand for love was frivolous and trite. I thought a marriage could be made to work without it. But I want a wife who looks at me the way you do him. I don’t want you thinking about
him
when I’m touching you. I don’t want you meeting him in darkened alleys. My curse is that I can’t deny you what brings you happiness. But neither can I live with it any longer. Take most of the money your father gave me and go to America with him. Leave me enough to see to my mother’s welfare. That’s all I ask. That and that you be happy.”

Tears had begun to stream down Kate’s cheeks. Much to his surprise, tears of happiness very much resembled tears of sorrow. She still clutched the towel between her breasts, which only served to jut them enticingly toward him. He was a man in short supply of restraint.

“Will you please hand me the towel so I may dry myself and prepare for bed. We can finish discussing the particulars in the morning.”

“Do you know what will happen if I leave?” she asked softly.

“I shall seek a divorce on grounds of abandonment.”

“I’ll never forget you.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing again, not as harshly but just as bitterly. “You’ll forget. I’m not easily remembered.”

“Your mother—”

“My mother aside, do you know my mistress had another protector within a day of leaving me?”

“Did you love her?”

“Of course not.”

“You tried to earn her affection.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It had to have hurt…you had so little money at your disposal and you put it toward trying to please her.”

“It is the nature of the relationship that one has with his mistress—”

“And yet she left.”

“I satisfied her not at all. Is that what it would please you to hear? For me to acknowledge—”

“You chose the wrong mistress.”

She’d been beautiful, talented in bed, and distant. She’d seen to his physical needs but a man needed so much more than that. But yearning for more than the physical was terrifying, because when the heart reached out, and found no purchase, it fell and shattered, resulting in unbearable pain.

“And the wrong wife,” he said quietly.

“You didn’t choose me, Michael. If you’d been given the choice, you’d have chosen Jenny.”

He had nothing to say to that. “May I have the towel?”

She stepped forward, draped it around his shoulders, and held the ends together in front of him. “I’m not going to America with Wesley. I never think of him when you’re in my bed. As a matter of fact, I never think of him at all except when he’s standing in front of me. Yes, he came to see me here. Yes, he gave me a poem. Yes, I read it. Yes, at the opera, he signaled that I was to meet him. And I did. To tell him to leave me be. To alert him that never again would there be anything between us. To inform him that somehow, against all odds, I fell completely and madly in love with a man who couldn’t even deduce my favorite color. Yet somehow he stole my heart.” Tears welled in her eyes. “If you send me away, I won’t forget you. When I gasp my last breath, I’ll carry memories of you into heaven with me.”