Mischief (21 page)

Matthias moved closer to her and found himself gazing down at the top of her bonnet. “Imogen, has it occurred to you that our engagement need not be a sham?”

“I beg your pardon?” Imogen shot to her feet in startled surprise.

Matthias stepped back quickly and just managed to avoid being struck by the brim of her bonnet. Off balance, Imogen flung out a hand with the apparent intention of catching hold of the edge of the sarcophagus. Unfortunately she grabbed the top of a tall vase instead. It started to topple.

“Oh, no,” Imogen wailed.

Matthias caught the vase before it shattered on the floor. He righted it carefully. Then he turned back to Imogen. She was gazing at him with a dumbfounded expression.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly, my lord,” she said weakly.

“I think that we would make an excellent match.” He reached for her and drew her into his arms.

She seized the lapels of his coat. “Matthias, what are you doing? There has been no talk of love between us.”

“What we share is stronger and more enduring than any such metaphysical nonsense.” He untied the strings of her bonnet and tossed it aside.

She searched his face with a desperate expression that threatened to tear asunder something deep inside him. He had the terrible sense that he hovered on the brink of one of the five Zamarian hells.

“What … what do we share?” she asked.

“Passion and Zamar.” He bent his head and took her mouth with all the fierce longing that had been growing inside him for days.

Imogen gave a muffled cry and wrapped her arms
around his waist. She pressed herself against him and parted her lips beneath his. He felt the storm rise within her even as the thunder rolled through his own veins.

He threw himself recklessly into the gathering gale. Imogen tightened her hold on him. Her soft hips nestled intimately against his rigid shaft. When he broke off the fevered kiss to explore the secret, scented place at the nape of her neck, she shivered.

“Matthias, I do not comprehend what you do to me,” she said breathlessly. “I vow, it is the most amazing sensation.”

A cold rain swirled out of the tempest, chilling the fire in his blood. Matthias dragged his mouth away from the silken skin at the base of her neck. “No. I will not have you this way.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

He caught her face in his hands and forced her to meet his eyes. “When this is finished, I will not stand accused of employing secret Zamarian lovemaking methods to seduce you.”

“But, Matthias—”

“I want you more than I have wanted anything since I went in search of Zamar. But unless you feel an equal passion for me, this embrace goes no further.”

“Oh, Matthias. You feel toward me what you felt for Zamar?”

“Yes.”

She went very still in his arms. Her long lashes lowered to conceal her gaze. For a shattering moment Matthias thought that he had lost her. He knew then which of the Zamarian hells it was that yawned at his feet. It was the third hell, the one in which a man faced a thousand years of living alone with only phantoms for company.

Imogen lifted her eyes to meet his. She smiled tremulously. “It was grossly unfair of me to accuse you of employing Zamarian lovemaking secrets to seduce me. I apologize. I was angry because you had ruined my plans with your announcement of an engagement.”

“I know.”

“In truth, I have only myself to blame for what happened in the garden the other night.” She hesitated. “I wanted you to make love to me then and I want you to make love to me now.”

Matthias realized that he could breathe again. “Are you certain?”

She stood on tiptoe and wound her arms around his neck. “I have never been more certain of anything in my life.”

“
Imogen
.” His arms tightened fiercely around her. He started to lower his head.

Imogen halted him by the simple expedient of putting her fingertips against his lips. “My lord, let me clarify this matter.”

“Clarify?”

“We are agreed that we venture into this embrace with complete understanding between us.”

“Yes.”

“Your fears that I will hurl accusations at you afterward have been put to rest?”

“Most assuredly.” He began to nibble on her fingertips.

Her eyes glowed. “Then, under the circumstances, I do not see any reason why you cannot teach me one or two ancient Zamarian lovemaking secrets, do you?”

Relief and laughter welled up inside him. “No reason at all.” He caught her hand before she could remove it from his lips and kissed her palm.

Imogen sighed and leaned into him. Her fingers curled around his. Matthias moved his mouth down to her vulnerable wrist and gloried in the small quiver of desire that went through her.

She stood on tiptoe and returned his kiss with unabashed enthusiasm. He moved his mouth up along the curve of her cheek to her ear. She speared her fingers through his hair. He shuddered.

“We’ll take this slowly,” he promised.

“If that is your wish.” She unwound his cravat.

“We shall savor every moment. We shall drain each second of all sensation before we move on to the next.”

“You remind me of one of the new poets, sir.” She began to pry at the fastenings of his shirt. “Or is that Zamarian verse that you are spouting?”

“I would have you remember this occasion for the rest of your life,” he said earnestly.

“I am hardly likely to forget it.” Imogen yanked impatiently at his shirt. The sound of the fine linen being ripped apart was very loud in the dusty chamber. “Oh, dear.”

Matthias grinned into her hair.

“I seem to have torn your shirt, sir. I am most dreadfully sorry.”

A light-headed feeling came over him. “Forget the shirt, madam. I have a vast number of them.”

“How fortunate.”

Matthias tipped her face up again and gazed at her soft, full mouth. At that moment he dismissed his plans to make slow, deliberate love to her. A fever was upon him. He burned, and from the looks of his shirt, so did she.

He swept Imogen into his arms and carried her through the ghostly remains of ancient Zamar to a bench that had been positioned against the far wall.

A cloud of dust rose as he settled Imogen on the shrouded cushions. Matthias winced, but she did not seem to notice. She looked up at him with glowing eyes. There was a great deal to be said for a lover who shared his intellectual interests, Matthias told himself. He had very likely discovered the only woman in all of England who would not complain about being seduced in a gritty, grimy museum.

He kissed the tip of her nose and then straightened to rid himself of the dangling neck cloth. He flung it over a sarcophagus and then swiftly freed himself of his coat, waistcoat, and the damaged shirt. He smiled briefly at the sight of the tear in the expensive linen.

He tossed the garment aside and looked down to find Imogen watching him intently. There was a sweet yearning in her expression that made him catch his breath. The tip of her small pink tongue appeared at the corner of her parted lips.

“You are quite beautiful, my lord,” she whispered in a soft, husky voice. “Indeed, I … I have never seen the like.”

Matthias gave a hoarse laugh. “You are the only truly beautiful creature in this room.” He lowered himself into the sea of green muslin skirts. His head spun as he sank beneath the waves.

“
Matthias
.” Imogen clutched at his bare shoulders.

He gathered her to him and kissed her until Imogen shivered and her head fell back over his arm. Then he reluctantly freed her mouth to follow the beckoning line of her throat. She twisted beneath him, lifting herself until he could feel her breasts crushed against his chest.

When his kisses reached the decorous neckline of her gown, he reached around to unfasten the bodice. It fell away, revealing a linen chemise that was so thin, he could see the outlines of two rosy nipples through it. His whole body clenched.

He lowered his head and kissed her breasts until he had dampened the fabric that covered them. Imogen cried out and began to kiss his shoulder with a frantic eagerness.

Matthias reached down, grabbed a fistful of her skirts and the hem of the chemise. He hauled the whole lot up to Imogen’s waist, revealing the triangle of tawny curls that shielded her secrets.

With a husky groan he bent his head and planted a kiss on the inside of one silken thigh. The scent of sunlight on a Zamarian sea filled his head. Very reverently he closed his hand around her, cupping her warmth.

Imogen’s soft gasp was intoxicating. He felt her turn to liquid against his palm and thought that nothing had ever thrilled him so much in his entire life.

“This is beyond anything.” Imogen’s nails sank into his shoulders. Shiver after shiver rippled through her. “My lord, I do not care a fig if you employ every secret Zamarian lovemaking technique that you have ever discovered. I would learn them all this afternoon.”

“Unfortunately, I do not possess the patience to run through the entire repertoire.” Matthias fumbled with his breeches, freeing himself. “But I promise that eventually we will practice every single one. Wrap your legs around me, my sweet.”

“My legs?”

“I need to be inside you.” He raised one stocking-clad knee and eased it into position around his waist. “I will go mad if I wait any longer.”

Imogen obediently circled him with her thighs. “Matthias, this feels very strange. Did you learn this position from that ancient Zamarian marital scroll you mentioned?”

He stroked her gently. “Some things are universal.”

He felt her soften and open for him. His hand was slick with the dew he had coaxed forth from her snug passage. He used the moisture to lubricate the dainty pearl that throbbed above the entrance. Imogen moaned.

“Good heavens, I don’t … I cannot …” Imogen swallowed the rest of whatever it was she had tried to say.

Matthias raised his head to look down into her passion-dazed face. “Look at me, Imogen. Open your eyes and look at me.”

Her lashes fluttered and then lifted. She smiled slowly up at him, a smile that contained more mysteries than the ruins of lost Zamar.

Matthias surrendered to the powerful need that consumed him. Parting her carefully, he fitted himself to her and forged slowly into her hot, clinging passage.

Imogen froze in his arms. “Perhaps you have not got it right, sir. Your translation may have been faulty.”

He clung to his sanity and his control with every vestige of his strength. “What are you talking about?”

“This particular Zamarian lovemaking technique obviously is not suited to a man of your proportions, Matthias. We must try another.”

“You’re a virgin,” he whispered against her nose.

“What the devil does that have to do with your poor translation of the Zamarian instructions for this method?”

“Nothing,” he admitted.

“I am not suggesting that we stop. I merely wish to try another technique.”

“We must master this one before we go on.” He brushed his mouth against hers. “Do you recall how it was for you the other night in the garden?”

She looked up at him with anxious eyes. “Yes. But this is entirely different.”

“Wait and see.” He started to ease himself slowly out of her clinging channel. The sensation was an indescribable, exquisite torment. “Take a deep breath.” He reached down between their bodies and stroked her firm little jewel. He was rewarded with a tiny tremor of response.

Imogen inhaled sharply. And then she began to soften around him. She was just as tight as she had been a moment earlier, but some of the tension in her body began to dissipate. Matthias sank himself slowly, carefully, back into her.

Imogen sighed and scored his back with her nails.

He withdrew partway again and kissed her chemise-covered nipples. “Better?” he whispered.

“Yes. Yes, I … I believe this particular method may work after all. Have I got it right?”

“Perfect.” Matthias clenched his teeth and fought to hold himself in check as he thrust slowly back into her warmth. “Absolutely perfect.”

“
Matthias
.” Without warning, she trembled and convulsed beneath him.

Sensation tore through Matthias. He was alive and he was bathed in sunlight. At that moment no ghost could touch him.

The following evening Matthias arrived at the theater just before the last act of
Othello
. Imogen, seated with Horatia and a sulking Patricia, gave him a reproving frown as he walked into the plush box. It was the first time she had seen him since he had made love to her in the Zamarian Institution.

“My lord, we had almost given up on you,” Imogen whispered as he took her hand. “You have missed most of the play.”

Matthias’s mouth curved faintly. She saw the intimate memories of yesterday in his ghost-gray eyes. “I trust you will never give up on me, my dear.” He kissed her gloved hand and turned to greet Horatia and Patricia. “Good evening, ladies. You are both looking very lovely this evening.”

Horatia inclined her head. “My lord.”

Patricia gave him a fulminating look. “You said you would meet us here, Matthias.”

“And so I have.”

Patricia flicked her fan. “The performance is nearly finished.”

“I have discovered that a small dose of theatrics goes a long way.” Matthias took the chair next to Imogen. “I pray you will not attempt to outdo Kean this evening, Patricia. You would not stand a chance of competing against him. Even drunk, he is the better actor.”

Patricia flinched and then turned away with a small, angry flounce. She gazed grimly at the glittering crowd seated in the boxes across the way.

Imogen swallowed a small sigh, aware that she was the cause of the new hostility between Matthias and Patricia. For some unfathomable reason, Imogen’s relationship with Patricia had deteriorated swiftly during the past few days. That evening it had been clear that Patricia had resented being forced to sit with Imogen and Horatia in her brother’s box.

Imogen did not comprehend what had caused the change in Patricia’s attitude, but it worried her. She intended to discuss the matter with Matthias at the earliest opportunity. But first there was another, more pressing item on her agenda. She had begun to suspect that Matthias was deliberately avoiding her. And she was fairly certain she knew why.