The Captain's Christmas Bride (14 page)

Which they were bound to think, what with her husband angling his body so that the maid could glimpse the bed he’d so artfully destroyed, and the low murmur with which he gave the order for tea and a cold collation, as though he was trying not to wake whoever was lying in that wrecked bed.

And the fact that he was shirtless. Shirtless! How could he wander around the room in a state of undress, when she was here?

Though to be fair, he’d been here first. He’d been changing for dinner, perfectly innocently.

And even though he hadn’t been wearing a shirt, he had produced a handkerchief.

And he was doing his best to shield her.

He’d managed to convey a totally erroneous impression of what was going on in this bedroom without telling a single lie.

It was...masterly, actually.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as soon as he’d shut the door on the maid. ‘For snapping at you, when you are just trying to help. You must think I’m an ungrateful shrew.’

He didn’t immediately contradict her.

Strangely, she liked that about him—that he was showing no inclination to be untruthful with her, not even to spare her feelings. It looked as though she would always know where she stood with him.

Unlike with some people.

‘I think,’ he said slowly, as though measuring his words, ‘that something has upset you very much, something you cannot admit to the world that you are upset about, and you feel the need to lash out in retaliation. And I’m the only one here.’

‘Yes, but it’s not your fault.’ The more reasonable he was being, the worse she felt. ‘It’s...’

No, it was no good. She couldn’t even speak the name without a pang of terrible pain shooting through her. She hadn’t realised she’d actually bowed over, and clutched at her stomach until she felt him patting her on the shoulder.

‘There, there,’ he said. As though completely at a loss as to what to do with her.

‘You really don’t have much experience with women, do you?’ She glanced up and caught an expression of chagrin on his face.

‘Is it that obvious?’

‘Oh, yes. A skilled philanderer would have a stock of smooth phrases at his disposal. He wouldn’t hand me a handkerchief, or pat me on the shoulder and say
there, there
, as though I were a child who’d fallen and scraped her knee.’

‘I beg your pardon...’ he began stiffly.

‘Oh, don’t poker up. I didn’t mean to insult you. I’m
glad
you aren’t the kind of man who finds it easy to tell lies, or pretend to feel something he doesn’t. Not like...’ She swallowed. ‘David.’ There. She’d finally managed to force the name between her teeth.

She swivelled round on the stool to face her husband fully. Studied his face to see how he felt about having the name of his former rival brought into their bedroom.

It didn’t look that much grimmer than usual.

Though suddenly, he spun away from her, went to the wrecked bed, and sat down on the edge of it, his hands on his knees. Gave her his full attention.

‘You had better tell me the worst.’

Chapter Nine

‘H
e’s...’ She swallowed. ‘He’s got engaged to...to Marianne.’

‘And...’ His brows drew down into a frown so deep they almost met in the middle. ‘And you are upset about this? Even though you knew there was never any chance of a reconciliation, now you have married me?’

‘Yes, I’m upset. But not because—’ She waved a hand between them. ‘It’s because I’ve just discovered they’ve been...been carrying on in secret for years. And using me as cover. And generally betraying me in every conceivable way. And making a fool of me. When I thought they were my friends!’ She pressed one hand to her forehead as if she could stuff the terrible thoughts back into place.

‘I don’t see why they couldn’t have told me in the first place. I would have supported them, then. Made sure they could have met each other. Given Marianne time off, or chaperoned them, or...or anything they wanted! They didn’t have to make me think that David...that David...’

It was no use. Her emotions were in such turmoil she couldn’t possibly sit still a moment longer. Getting to her feet, she paced across the floor to the fireplace. Whirled round.

‘When I went to London, for my first Season, he...he...’ A wave of humiliation crushed the rest of it up against her teeth.

Alec made for the dressing table, retrieved the brandy glass, and brought it across to her.

‘In vino veritas,’
he said, handing her the glass.

He wanted her to be able to speak of David’s perfidy? And Marianne’s? And was urging her to take Dutch courage?

Very well. She accepted the glass, and took a swift gulp.

It burned the back of her throat, making her wheeze.

Then hit her stomach in a warm rush.

Alec didn’t press her to continue. He just stood there, watching her with that grim face of his. That grim, yet utterly trustworthy face.

‘You’d never speak to a girl of seventeen, on her way to her first Season, of all her faults, would you? And imply she was shallow? And tell her that she was bound to forget her childhood friends, and come back married to some wealthy, titled fop? And make her feel that if she did, it would break your heart? Would you?’

He shook his head.

‘I thought he was making a declaration. Instead he...’ She closed her eyes and shuddered. ‘I don’t know what he was doing. What made him try to prevent me from getting married, when even then, apparently, he and Marianne had an understanding.’

She took another gulp of the brandy. She didn’t know whether it was the drink, or telling her husband about David, but whichever it was, she was starting to feel less hurt, and more angry. And with the fresh rush of anger came a startling clarity of thought.

‘Actually, perhaps I do,’ she said, setting the brandy glass down on the mantel with a snap. ‘If I’d married, I would have moved away. And probably taken Marianne with me, because I’d promised she’d always have a home with me. I most definitely wouldn’t have left her here, alone, because none of the others like her. And I didn’t want her to be miserable. I was trying to
protect
her, for heaven’s sake! She was my friend. And I was hers. Why couldn’t she just have told me she was in love with David, and he with her? Why did she have to be so...sly?’

When she kept on looking at him for a moment or two, as she gathered her thoughts, he spread his hands in open admission of ignorance.

‘I couldn’t say,’ he said, appearing to think she expected an answer.

‘Of course you couldn’t. No more could I. Though I suppose she did suffer a twinge or two of conscience about...us.’

‘Us?’

‘Yes. Didn’t you notice her crying all the way through our wedding? I suppose I have to give her that much. She was sorry I was marrying someone I didn’t know, let alone love. And felt guilty, too, apparently.’

‘Guilty?’

‘Oh, yes. You haven’t heard the best part yet,’ she replied bitterly. ‘The reason I ended up with you, in the orangery, rather than David, was because the pair of them had taken advantage of the mummers’ play to sneak off together. That was why I couldn’t find him. Because the pair of them were both up in Marianne’s room for...a tryst.’ She spat the word out. The word that Marianne had spoken so archly. With a defiant glint in her eye.

‘To think that she pretended to be so set against my plan to make David propose, when all the time she was planning to make use of it herself!’

He took a breath, as though about to say something.

‘And don’t you dare throw my words back in my face, about using stratagems to confuse the enemy, or flying under false colours, or anything of that nature. Or I shall...’

She couldn’t carry that sentence to any conclusion. Because she didn’t know what she’d do. She only knew that if he mocked her now, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. All Marianne’s perfidy, and David’s duplicity, could not hurt her as much as having this man laugh at her.

Which was an appalling discovery to make.

Because it meant that in only a few short days, he’d become as important to her, as dear to her, as either of them had ever been.

‘I was only going to say,’ he said icily, ‘that it sounds as though they are well suited to each other. And that you are better off without either of them.’

He turned on his heel and stalked away.

She hoped it was only because somebody had just knocked on the door.

She darted across the room to a point where she couldn’t be seen from the doorway, trusting that Alec wouldn’t simply walk out and leave her. Though she wouldn’t blame him if he did. She’d been much too forthright. Contrary, even—venting her anger on him when he hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

He didn’t walk out and leave her. He took first one tray, then a second, from whoever was outside in the corridor, setting them down on nearby tables.

‘Thank you,’ she said, the moment the door had closed on the last servant. ‘For organising the smokescreen.’ She indicated the tea trays. ‘And also...’ She took a deep breath. Because humility didn’t come easily to her. ‘Also for bearing with my tantrum. And pointing out that they are better suited to each other than I ever was to either of them. You are right. For I cannot abide disloyalty. Or duplicity. Oh...’ She waved down the protest he might have made before he could voice it. ‘I know you must find that hard to believe, given the way I deceived you the night we...the night we...um...first came together. But...’

He frowned.

‘Your code of morals is a little tangled, perhaps, but I concede that you do have one.’

The beast! The pompous, judgemental...

‘And that it exceeds that of your...well, I was going to say friends. But they have proved to be no such thing to you.’

Oh. Well, she supposed she couldn’t really take exception to any of that. Not unless she was determined to quarrel with him. Which might make her feel better for a little while, but wouldn’t do her any good in the long run.

‘I think,’ he said, lifting the lid from the teapot and peering inside, ‘that they took advantage of your generous nature.’

Generous? He thought she was generous? Well that put paid to any lingering shreds of quarrelsomeness.

‘Would you like a cup of tea, now? Or would you prefer to keep going with the brandy? There is plenty of both.’

‘I do not wish to develop a taste for brandy, thank you very much,’ she said.

‘Then I shall pour you some tea.’

He replaced the lid on the pot, arranged the cup on its saucer, and settled the tea strainer across the rim.

‘Milk and sugar?’

She clapped her hand over her mouth.

‘What is the matter now? What have I said?’

‘You...’ She pointed at him. At his bare chest. The delicate china milk jug in one hand. The sugar tongs in the other. ‘You look so...incongruous. Presiding over the tea tray without your shirt.’

His face stiffened. ‘Do you wish me to put on a shirt to pour tea for you?’

She shook her head. ‘To be honest, I rather like looking at your chest. It is such a very well-made chest.’ She ran hungry eyes over his beautifully sculpted torso. A sudden thirst made her lick her lips. And it wasn’t for tea. Or brandy. She glanced at the bed he’d unmade.

The milk jug slipped through his fingers and landed with a clatter and a splosh on the tray.

‘You want me,’ he said.

She nodded her head, too shy to admit out loud to having such feelings without the cover of night, or anything else to hide behind.

‘That’s the brandy talking,’ he said, putting the tongs down in the puddle of milk.

‘In vino veritas,’
she said with a shrug. ‘I wouldn’t normally have the nerve to admit it. To be so...bold. Or so...open, about what I feel. But with you standing there like that...’ She ran greedy eyes over his upper body again. ‘And anyway,’ she added crossly, when he continued to just stand there, fists clenched, glowering at her. ‘It was your idea to go to bed instead of going down to dinner.’

‘I only meant it as a ruse. I didn’t mean...’

‘Oh. You mean, you don’t want me, too?’

‘Don’t be absurd, woman, you can see that I do,’ he replied. Then, shockingly, uncurled one fist and gestured towards his manhood, which looked to her as though it was attempting to thrust its way right through his breeches. The sight sent a rush of heat to the very place it was clearly hoping to go.

‘Then what’s to stop us?’ She took a hesitant step towards him. ‘We’re married. And everyone thinks that’s why we’re staying up here anyway.’ She reached out and placed one hand, rather daringly she thought, on the mat of blond hair at the very centre of his magnificent chest.

To her chagrin, he didn’t immediately sweep her off her feet, carry her across the room, and fling her onto the bed, though she could feel his heart racing beneath her palm.

‘You’re upset,’ he bit out. ‘And not used to drinking brandy. I don’t want to take advantage while you’re vulnerable. It wouldn’t be the act of a gentleman.’

‘That didn’t stop you this morning,’ she retorted. ‘Is it...is it because I’m the one trying to start it, this time?’ She snatched her hand away as though he’d burnt her.

‘God, no.’ He seized her hand and carried it back to where it had been, placing his own over it to keep it there. ‘I regret the way I treated you this morning. I shouldn’t have obliged you to submit, when it wasn’t what you wanted. I was angry. Trying to prove something.’

Good Lord, this was unheard of. A man apologising for acting brutishly? If that was what he was doing. She couldn’t be sure since she’d never heard a man making any attempt to explain his actions. Not any man but him, that was.

‘What,’ she asked in fascination, ‘were you trying to prove?’

‘That...that you are not the one in control.’

Dominance—he’d been asserting his dominance over her. Well, yes, she’d certainly felt dominated. Deliciously so, to be honest.

But how far did that need for dominance go?

‘So it is just that you don’t want to...go back to bed, if I am the one to want it? To ask for it?’

‘No! That’s not what I meant. I meant... God, I don’t know what I meant.’ His fingers tightened until they were almost crushing hers. She had no doubt that if she complained he’d let her go. At once.

But she didn’t feel like complaining.

‘And if it comes to wanting...’ he breathed, with such a look of pent-up longing and frustration in his eyes that it made her stomach flip with excitement. ‘I want you all the time. And I don’t know how that can be when I only met you a handful of days ago. And it...’

Ah. She could see it now. He was in as much confusion as she was. And struggling to come to terms with the desire that kept on flaring between them.

‘Infuriates you?’

‘Yes.’

‘It infuriates me, too,’ she admitted. ‘But right this moment, I am glad to know that at least
someone
wants me. Really wants me. Enough to scandalise everyone else at the house party by taking me to bed in the afternoon.’

And then, because he still looked so torn between the wanting, and the resentment, she tugged her hand free. But only so she could reach up and loop both her arms round his neck. She pushed her fingers into the soft curls that caressed the nape of his neck, and did a little caressing of her own.

He smiled with his eyes. That was the only way to describe it. Because although his mouth hardly changed shape at all, she knew he was smiling at her as he put his arms about her waist and tugged her into his reassuringly hard body.

‘This time,’ he informed her sternly, ‘we are going to take it slowly. Neither of us is angry with the other, so we should be able to savour the bedding, rather than just exploding into release like when a match touches powder.’

‘S-s-savour?’ He made it sound so decadent, when his voice went all soft and growly like that, with that slight lilt emphasising his Scottish heritage.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, lifting her off her feet and carrying her to the prepared bed. ‘I want to strip you naked, and gaze on all that perfect, porcelain skin. Stroke it, and taste it. And bring you to release several times before I even enter you.’

‘B-before you...?’ Her heart was hammering so hard as he laid her gently down on the mattress that she couldn’t breathe the words out properly.

‘Aye. Before. That is how a husband should bed his wife, I think.’ He shook his head ruefully as he turned her to one side, so that he could undo the ties at the back of her dress. ‘Not hard, and fast, as though her own pleasure is of no account.’

She’d had pleasure in their couplings so far, she wanted to tell him. But he’d slid his hand inside her gown and was easing it off her shoulders. Kneeling over her and kissing his way along the skin he bared. And she found that it was all she could do to breathe, never mind say anything.

So she just reached for him, and touched him the way he was touching her, to show that she was, for once, willing to do
exactly
as he wished.

And soon discovered that obeying a man could bring the kind of reward she’d never dreamed possible.

* * *

She didn’t argue the next day, either, when he forbade her to leave the room to go down for breakfast.