Scandal's Bride (49 page)

“My opinion?” Arching one brow, Catriona met his glowing gaze. Her feet, of their own accord, were carrying her toward the stairs.

“Your opinion—and, perhaps, a token or two of your affection—your appreciation.” His smile had turned devilish with salacious anticipation. “Just to reassure me that you really do like Henry.”

Catriona looked into his eyes—the sounds of the crowd walking the new herd to the barn were fading in the distance. She could imagine how victorious their progress up the vale had been—she'd seen any number of workers from the farms among the crowd. And the manor folk had given them a rousing welcome—a hero's welcome. The look in Richard's eyes—the same look she'd glimpsed briefly in Devil's and Vane's—suggested they were expecting a similar welcome from their wives.

Her gaze locked on his, as they reached the top of the stairs, she smiled. Finding his hand, she twined her fingers with his, then, her own eyes alight, she slid her gaze from his and turned toward their chamber. “Come, then—and I'll consider your reward.”

He deserved it.

Later, after having overseen his bath and shared a dinner fit for a conqueror which, to her amazement, had arrived without explanation on a tray, Catriona rewarded her husband thoroughly, an exercise that left her totally naked, totally drained, slumped, facedown and boneless, amid the rumpled sheets of their bed.

Much
later, she mumbled: “Where did you go?”

Sprawled, similarly naked, beside her, Richard glanced at her face. She hadn't yet opened her eyes, not since he'd shut them for her. He settled back on the pillows and enjoyed the sight—of her luscious ivory back and bottom delectably displayed alongside him. “Hexham.”

“Hexham?” A frown tangled Catriona's brows. “That's in England.”

“I know.”

“You mean those are
English
cattle?”

“The very
best
of English cattle. There's a breeder who lives outside Hexham—we went to visit him.”

“Visit?”

Richard chuckled. “I have to admit it felt rather like olden times—raiders from the Lowlands sweeping south to steal cattle. Except, of course, that I paid for them.” He considered, then his brows quirked. “Mind you, I'm not sure Mr. Scroggs won't decide we've stolen them anyway—we got them at a very good price.”

Catriona lifted her heavy head, and her heavy lids, and stared at him. “Why was that?”

Richard grinned. “Devil's inimitable ways. His presence here was too good an opportunity to pass up—he's a master at negotiating. He doesn't precisely
lean
on people—not physically—but they do tend to give ground. Rather unexpectedly, to them.”

Catriona humphed and lowered her head back onto the tangled covers. “We weren't expecting you for another day—you said four in your note.”

“Ah, yes.” Noting the increasing strength in her voice, Richard's interest in their adventure waned. “We expected to get back today—one day to ride to Hexham, two days to drive the cattle back, but”—he slid down the bed, then swung up and straddled her knees—“we thought if we said four days rather than three, you'd worry less.” Sliding his palms along her thighs, he gripped her hips and gently flipped her onto her back. “Or,” he said, sitting back on his ankles, his hot gaze roving her delectable nakedness, “at least, not yet have whipped yourselves into a righteous frenzy when we got back on the third day.”

So sated she could not tense a single muscle, Catriona lay on her back and stared up at him. “You purposely told us four days, so we wouldn't be prepared to . . . to deal with you as you deserved—”

A swift grin cut off her words; he swooped down and kissed her. “We wanted to surprise you.”

For more reasons than one, Catriona knew, but as he kissed her lingeringly again, and eased his long body down over hers, she couldn't summon enough temper to care. He lay on her as they kissed, then eased to one side, lying half over her, half beside her, one dark, hair-dusted thigh wedged between hers.

Propped on one elbow, he turned his head and splayed his hand over her belly. Gently, he stroked, gauged. “Have you told them yet?” Her gaze on his face, Catriona shook her head. “I . . . wanted to wait a little—we haven't had time—”

“I haven't said anything, either.” His hand resting heavy over where their child grew, secure within her womb, he turned his head and met her gaze. “I want to think about it—see how things settle—how it feels, if it . . . fits.”

He looked back at his hand; Catriona studied his face, dark planes gilded by the firelight. Then she raised a hand and gently smoothed back the lock of hair that always fell over his forehead. He looked back at her; she smiled into his eyes. “It fits.” Her heart swelling, she held his gaze. “You, me, our child, the manor, the vale—we all fit.”

For one long instant, she was lost in the blue—the blue of summer skies over Merrick's high head. Then she smiled, mistily, and traced his cheek. “This is how it's meant to be.”

Her gaze had dropped to his lips; half-lifting her head, she rose—he bent his head and their lips met, in a kiss so achingly tender, so honest, so vulnerable, there were tears in her eyes when it ended.

He looked down at her for a moment, then his lips kicked up at the ends. “Come show me.” Drawing back, he sat on his haunches and pulled her up to her knees.

“Show you what?” Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder as he swung her about so her back was to him.

His eyes burned, his grin grew wicked as he drew her back, sliding her knees outside of his, drawing her bottom against his ridged abdomen. “Show me how things fit.”

He needed little instruction on that point; hot and hard, he pressed into her. Her body flowered and opened for him; she gave a soft sigh as he slid fully home.

He settled her, her thighs over his, her bottom wedged against his hips. Impaled upon him, with his chest against her back and his steely arms around her, she was open and vulnerable; her breasts, her belly, the springy curls at its base, the soft inner surfaces of her thighs, already taut, were his to stroke and fondle, to caress as he willed.

And he willed.

Held almost upright, she couldn't rise much upon him; instead, buried deep within her, he rocked. Slowly, languorously.

Catriona bit her lip against a groan as his fingers tightened about her budded nipples and she felt him surge slowly within her.

Then he chuckled; fingers gripping her hips, he lifted her a little, then slowly thrust upward and filled her. Catriona shivered.

“I was just thinking . . .” he murmured.

Flicking a glance over her shoulder, she saw him looking down as he lifted her slightly again.

“We can't risk telling anyone our news yet.”

He filled her; Catriona dragged in a desperate breath. “Why not?”

“Because if
Maman
finds out, she might not leave.” He drew her fully down and rolled his hips beneath her. He reached for her breasts. “And much as I love her, having Helena about for any appreciable time would try the patience of a saint.”

He filled his palms and kneaded.

“Devil seems to manage.”

“She doesn't fuss about him.”

He started to rock her again, a tantalizingly slow ride. His hands drifted over her skin and she heated, and grew hotter. Grew wilder.

She hadn't yet got used to his manner of loving, of the slow, relentless giving, the gradual, inexorable rise toward bliss. If she tried to run ahead, he would hold her back, prolong the delicious torture until she was all but beyond herself—until, when he let her fly free, she screamed.

She'd had trouble with those screams from the first. She'd tried to muffle them, tried to suppress them, tried to at least keep them within bounds—keep them from disturbing the household.
He
didn't seem to care—but then, as Helena would say, he was a man.

The thought focused her mind on the evidence of that, on the thick, heavy, rigid reality filling her, stretching her, completing her—she felt excitement fuse, felt the thrill shimmer and grow.

Desperately, she opened her eyes and focused—on her dressing table across the room. In the mirror, lit only by the weak light of the fire, she saw him, a dark presence in the shadows behind her, saw her body lift rhythmically in his embrace, saw his body coil and flex, driving hers.

Upward. Onward. Into that realm of pleasure where the physical and emotional and spiritual merged.

But he kept their journey to a rigidly slow pace.

Dragging in a breath, her senses at full stretch, her wits all but scattered, she sought for some distraction—something to help her survive the slow disintegration of her senses. “Your nickname.”

“Hmm?” He wasn't listening.

“Scandal,” she gasped. She'd heard Devil, Vane and Gabriel all use it to his face, although naturally, all the ladies called him Richard. Clutching the arm wrapped across her hips, she let her head fall back and licked her dry lips. “How did you come by it?”

She'd wanted to know since first she'd heard it.

“Why do you want to know?” There was a touch of amusement in his voice—a teasing lilt.

Why?
“Because we might go to London. In the circumstances, I think I have a right to know.”

“You never leave the vale.”

“But you might have to go south for some reason.”

After a moment, he chuckled. His steady rocking penetration had not faltered. “It's not what you think.”

“Oh?” She was clinging to sanity by her fingernails.

“Devil coined the tag—it wasn't because I cause scandal, but because I was: ‘A Scandal That Never Was.' ”

Her wits were reeling, her senses fracturing—beneath her heated skin, her nerves had stretched taut. As if he understood, he nuzzled her ear. “Because of Helena's actions in claiming me as hers, I was a scandal that never eventuated.”

“Oh.” She breathed the syllable—it shattered in the warm stillness as she gasped. And tightened, every muscle coiling.

He bent her forward, drove deeply into her—and sent her flying, tumbling over the edge of the world.

Richard held her before him, heard her scream—listened to it die to a sob. He held still—briefly—buried within her, savoring the strong ripples of her release, then let go his own reins, let his body have its way, and followed her into ecstasy.

By the time she joined the breakfast table the next morning, Catriona was a walking testament to the fact that three days spent primarily out of doors had completely restored Richard's strength.

There was nothing wrong with his stamina; she could swear to that on The Lady's name.

A fact apparently so obvious, no one needed to ask; all the Cynsters were busy with their preparations to leave.

If anything, their leaving created even more commotion than their arrival.

Two hours later, standing on the steps, ready to wave them off, Catriona turned as the Dowager came bustling out, lecturing McArdle to the last.

“Once down to the cattle barn and back at least once a day—I will check in my letters to see that you are doing it.”

McArdle's assurance that he wouldn't forget was lost in the clatter as Vane's elegant carriage, drawn by matched greys, came rattling around the house to join the Dowager's carriage and the ducal equipage, both already waiting on the cobbles.

Devil and Honoria had already taken their leave; Richard stood beside Devil as he handed Honoria into their carriage, then, with a last word to Richard, and a last rakish smile and a wave to Catriona, Devil climbed up and Richard shut the door. He paused for a moment, watching Gabriel hand the twins into the Dowager's carriage. His horse tied to the carriage's back, Gabriel would travel with them to Somersham, then escort the twins back to London.

Vane and Patience were heading for London, too, but they would stop at Somersham first to allow Patience to rest before joining Vane's family in the capital. Richard returned Patience's wave as Vane handed her into the carriage; with a salute, Vane followed her in.

A groom shut the door—others scurried around checking straps and harness. Smiling, Richard strolled back to the front steps. He arrived to see Helena release Catriona from one of her extravagant embraces.

“You must promise me you will visit in summer.” Clinging to Catriona's hands, Helena looked into her eyes. “The Season, I can understand, might be difficult and not to your liking, but in summer, you must come.” She shook Catriona's hands. “You have not been part of a big family before—there is much you yet need to learn.”

Catriona saw the worry in Helena's fine eyes; smiling serenely, she leaned forward and touched cheeks. “Of course, we'll come. Exactly when”—she drew one hand free and gestured—“is in the lap of The Lady, but we will come, you may be sure.”

Helena searched her eyes briefly, then beamed. “
Bon!
It is good.” With that, she pressed Catriona's hand and turned to her second son. “Come—you may lead me to my carriage.”

Surprised by his wife's promise, Richard masked his concern and suavely offered his arm.

Helena took it; he led her down the steps and over the cobbles to where Gabriel and the twins were waiting. With a last hug, and a last cling, Helena let him go; accepting Gabriel's hand, she climbed into the carriage. Gabriel followed and Richard shut the door. Helena leaned out of the window as Catriona, who had strolled in their wake, linked her arm with Richard's.

“You will not forget!” Helena wagged a finger at Catriona.

Who laughed. “I won't. June—July—who knows? But sometime in summer.”

“Good.” Helena beamed her brilliant smile and sat back. The coachman cracked his whip.

“Farewell!”

“Safe journey!”

The carriages rolled smoothly out, the ducal carriage in the lead, followed by the Dowager's with Vane and Patience's carriage bringing up the rear. The grooms and outriders rode alongside, all in the ducal livery. It was a scene from a pageant, a sight the vale had never seen before; the manor household lined the courtyard and the drive, waving their unexpected but very welcome visitors on their way.