The Companion (40 page)

Beth chanced a glance behind her. The tension in the room was palpable. Rufford stood rooted in the center of the carpet. “I will sleep in this chair,” he volunteered, pointing
to one of a set in the corner. “It looks as though the dressing room is through those doors.”

She did not speak but nodded silently and scooped up the silken pile from the bed and closed the door behind her. A young girl waited to help her undress. The dressing room contained a trunk half-packed and filled with clothes. Pomona green and old gold, deep russet and mink brown, they spilled out in profusion. He had bought all these for her.

For the past two days she had anticipated this moment, dreaded it, and now it was upon her. Everything would happen or not happen in the next minutes. What did she want to happen? The girl unhooked her dress and Beth slipped out of it. He had already told her his choice. He said he would sleep in the chair. Yet if they did not consummate their marriage tonight, the tension would grow until it was a great thunderous storm between them, so crashing loud they would not be able to hear each other even if they shouted. The girl folded the dress carefully in tissue and laid it on the trunk. Beth unwound the pearls from her neck. But to tell herself the truth, that was not the only reason she wanted consummation. She wanted to make love to Ian Rufford, had wanted it for a long time. It was a mystery to her, this physical act. But some part of her knew that she would never be whole unless that mystery was solved. Perhaps the solutions would be another piece in the puzzle that was Rufford, too. She resolved to do what she could to bring about exactly what was making her tremble inside even now.

Would he do it? He could not be attracted to a mere brown dab of a girl with odd-colored eyes. Yet he was a man. Men had carnal unions with women they did not care for all the time. And perhaps, if he came to depend on her, he would grow used to how she looked. They would become comfortable together and retrieve the friendship they had shared, spoiled now by his fear of his condition and the prospect of being man and wife. They
were
friends. That buoyed her. She dismissed the girl and slipped out of her underthings.

He might lose control. She had heard men did. Perhaps he would take her blood. She did not find that so horrible. In
Gibraltar when he sucked at her neck, she’d been transported away from the everyday, from practicality, to some place where magic happened.

She slipped the soft silken gown over her head. It brushed her nipples and hardened them. She was frightened. But not of what most people would think she should fear.

When Miss Rochewell retired, Ian paced to the fire and wondered how far he should undress. Certainly he could not sleep in his coat. He removed it with difficulty, it was so snug, as well as his cravat, his shoes and waistcoat, leaving him in shirt and breeches. That would do. He poured himself a brandy. He had not drunk much tonight. Now he was in need of liquid fortitude. He glanced into the mirror and saw that his open shirt revealed the scars at his throat. He stiffened, pushed down the memory of rope against his neck, and fastened the button at his collar.

She returned, her hair unbound, in the off-white nightgown he had purchased. It was modest, unlike the public garments he had given her, its neckline high, its long sleeves demure. She looked lovely. “Would you like some Madeira?” he asked, then remembered earlier conversations. “Or . . . or brandy?” He took his eyes from her by force.

She shook her head.

He sat with jerky movements in the chair, but she did not climb into the high bed. She stood, wavering there before him. He could see her unbound breasts move beneath the loose silk fabric, so fine it was almost sheer. Her dark nipples were taut. His throat grew tight. “Shall I put out the candles, or shall you?” he asked stupidly.

“It is a shocking waste,” she said, “but I like the light. Let us leave them lit a while.”

“As you wish.” He threw back the brandy and turned to reach for the decanter. He must turn away or she might see a very obvious sign of the effect she was having on him. How, in God’s name, was he going to sleep in a chair in her bedroom tonight or other nights? He repeated his vows in his
mind. “Well, I shall just take this extra quilt. . . .” He kept his back turned as he sidled over to grab the white embroidered coverlet laid across the foot of the bed. He turned to make a dash to the chair, and she was there, close, looking up at him with those luminous eyes. The weight of her breasts beneath the silk made his loins tighten further.

“Must you sleep in the chair?” She flushed.

“Our bargain did not include. . . . any obligation on you of a more . . . intimate nature.” His throat was so full he could hardly speak. He cleared it, then wished he had not.

“Oh. I was not sure.” She looked daunted. He saw her gather herself. “I was hoping we could discuss that bargain a little more fully.”

“Of course.” He pulled the quilt between them. What would she think if she saw his erection? He was not a slightly built man. It would be distasteful to her. He would give anything he could name to suppress it. But that was not likely. “What did you wish to . . . discuss?”

She took his brandy glass, sipped, and made a small face. She took a breath. “It is just that if you are to be my husband and you will live a very long time, then, if I am true to the vows I have made today and they do not include a . . . consummation . . . well, then I shall never know the joys of the marriage bed.” She flushed. “I find that hard.”

“Fidelity was not included in your obligation.” He did not like that thought.

“Oh, you mean I should take lovers?” she asked, her eyes searching his face.

He started to answer, thought better of it, and took the brandy glass back. He gulped and felt the liquid warm his belly. Why not? The rest of him seemed to be on fire.

“But . . .” she mused, and took the brandy glass. She sipped. Her lips were right where his had been. She had turned the glass to be sure of it. Was that on purpose? “If I take lovers, would they not expect me to be an experienced woman? How will I get experience if not from you?”

“Blast their expectations, Miss . . .” He colored. “Elizabeth.” The sound of her name in his mouth was intimate.

“I prefer Beth . . . Ian.” Her voice was husky.

He managed a lopsided grin. “At least I know not to call you Lizzy.”

She smiled. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled. “That is wise.”

“Beth, then.” It was like breathing. Beth. Where was he? What had he been saying?

“So, it isn’t possible to renegotiate the bargain?”

“You want to include . . . carnal . . . experience then?” He was not sure he sounded calm.

“I have nothing left to sweeten the pot. I have already said I would help you, whatever you need.” She sipped the brandy and stepped even closer. Thank God for the quilt.

He cleared his throat again. She was bargaining to give up something precious to a woman. “I am not sure you understand what you would be relinquishing.”

“I am a married woman. What need have I to be a virgin? Who would expect it of me? No, if I am to be of the married state, I think I had better have it all.” Her color suddenly drained away and all her boldness with it. “Of course, it would need be just the once, just to show me how one goes on.” She looked down at her bare feet. “If you found you could not bring yourself to it, why a bargain is a bargain nonetheless, and you have already fulfilled your part.”

The silly chit thought he could not bring himself to lie with her when he was burning for her to the point of pain even as they sat here talking so inanely? God, he had vowed he would never thrust himself on her, but he had counted on her never volunteering. He had no right . . . with what he was.

But she knew what he was. She must know what she wanted. She had even asked Beatrix about children. He found that the quilt had dropped between them, and he was gripping her upper arms through the silk and searching her green-gold eyes for guile or for demanding. She had demanded once. She had said, “Love me,” when she was half out of her mind with fever and loss of blood. Now she asked, and with so little self-confidence it was endearing to a fault. She tried to be casual—certainly she spoke as no woman he
had ever heard before. He thought he would burst, and whether his heart or his cock would burst first he could not be sure.

He leaned down and brought her so close her breasts pressed against his ribs. He should not. . . . She would feel his need. She lifted her mouth, that fulsome mouth.

Beth felt the urgency in him and the hardness at his loins as he drew her in toward his body. Her breasts brushed his ribs. The scent of cinnamon and ambergris was both familiar and exciting. Her own breathing alternately stopped and came so fast and shallowly she thought she might faint. He wanted her. Of that there could be no doubt. He might not love her, but he would lie with her tonight. Her own body was almost in pain between her legs. Was that desire doing that? She certainly wanted him. She lifted her mouth to his. He bent above her. His lips trembled against hers as his grip on her arms grew harder. He would leave bruises. She did not care.

Then his tongue was searching her mouth. She had never felt the strange intimacy of a wet tongue inside her mouth. It was not unpleasant. She touched his tongue with hers, and with that encouragement he probed deeper. He took her into his arms and held her, pressed against the length of his body. She could actually feel his loins throbbing against her belly, and between her own legs the ache was becoming almost unbearable. She ran her hands over his back and felt the muscles beneath his shirt.

Suddenly he tore his lips away from hers, gasping, and held her head against his chest. “We must go slowly, so that you will have enjoyment of this night.”

“I was enjoying that,” she said, trying not to complain. She heard his deep chuckle rumble in his chest. He had never felt so male, so fundamentally different than she was. He let her go and stepped quickly to dim the lamps on the far side of the room, leaving only the candlesticks on the bedside tables and the branch near the door. This last he took and put by the bed. The flickering light was soft.

He took her hand and drew her to the bed. Her fear was drowned in the passion of his kisses. “I will show you more enjoyment,” he murmured. “After all, it is a husband’s duty.” He smiled when he said it, and the dark pools of his eyes looked deep and deeply into her. Was it only duty that drove him? He slipped the shift over her head, leaving her naked in the warm room. She wondered if she looked like the female Egyptian figures painted on the walls of tombs who always attended kings on their way to the underworld. She would like that.

He could not seem to breathe. She felt self-conscious and, in order to be busy, she tugged at the ribbon at his nape. His hair cascaded over his shoulders and she ran her fingers through it. How she loved that hair! Then she pulled his shirt from his breeches and unbuttoned the neck. He stayed her hands in his large one. “I am not a pretty sight, I’m afraid,” he said, his voice hoarse.

She looked up at him. “Your scars?” She smiled. “I have seen them, you know.” She gently freed her hands. “Even touched them.” She ran her hands up under his shirt, over his welted back, and pulled his shirt off over his head with one smooth movement. He hastily unfastened his cuffs and drew it off. He was still a little embarrassed, she could see. She lifted her mouth for more kisses as she reached for the buttons of his breeches. She could hear the breath rasping in his throat.

He took her hands away and lifted her onto the bed. “Let me.” He looked down at his breeches. His hands were clumsy. “You’re sure you would not prefer that I wear the nightshirt?”

“Do you think I will be shocked?” she asked, amused. “I have seen men naked, bathing in the Nile, the Tigris. I have seen statues with full erections.”

“Yes, well, perhaps you will be disappointed then,” he said roughly as he finally freed the last button and slid the trousers over his hips.

“No,” she said, looking her fill and then opening her arms to him. “Not at all.”

He smiled wryly, then, and some of the nervousness left
him. His body was as powerful as she remembered it but paler now. The scars did not stand out so much. And his most male parts, which she had seen only quiescent, now throbbed erect, better than any stone statue, since they promised heat as well as adamantine hardness. Her only doubt was that he was so large and she felt so small. She had never regretted her size more. Was it even possible?

He seemed to be having similar thoughts. He looked at her with such—what was it, wonder?—in his eyes. He laid her back upon the pillows. Nervously she spread her knees. That was what one did, she knew. He slid in beside her. “Time enough for that later,” he said. “First let me introduce you to some other pleasures.”

He slid one arm under her neck and lifted her, even as he bent to kiss her. His other hand cupped her buttocks, pressing her against him. She realized she was wet between her thighs. He kissed her deeply, even as he stroked her back. At last, when she could hardly breathe, he pulled away, only to bend his lips to her nipple. He sucked and pulled at her until she moaned a little; then he turned his attention to her other breast. She had never believed so much feeling could be concentrated in such a little mound of flesh. As she arched against his mouth, he slid his hand between her thighs. He seemed to control all of her body between his hands and his mouth. His fingers slid up and down her slit, and some point of feeling there wakened. Her hips began to move of their own accord, willing him to continue. Back and forth he rubbed, slick wetness sliding across pure feeling, until she was panting and gasping in his arms. He stopped. The feeling ebbed. She wanted to protest. Was there to be no more? Then he began again, faster, harder, and the feeling came back tenfold. Somewhere she realized that she was clutching at his back. The feeling in her nipples as he suckled there was sent down to the point between her legs and back again, redoubled, until she crashed through some final barrier and the feeling shot up through unbearable to ecstatic and she bucked and rocked against his hand, crying out in some gasping breath she did not recognize.