When She Said I Do (5 page)

She sat on the bed and curled her feet beneath her, away from the chilly floor. Someone—Callie suspected it was Dade—had built a fire in the hearth at some time this afternoon. The coals were now glowing beautifully and Callie was grateful of the heat and the small amount of light.

No doubt she would be expected to keep her own fire. There was no one else to light it, or even to fill the coal scuttle so she could do it herself. Fine. She was no weakling.

The Worthingtons had few staff. Only Philpott truly lived in. Philpott, a former theater crony of Mama’s, was nominally the “housekeeper” but actually served as cook and Mama’s companion. Callie and her sisters did the greater part of the actual housekeeping—which mostly consisted of trying to keep Mama from staining the last good furnishings with her paints. So Callie could light her own fire. She could, if necessary, fetch her own coals.

Tonight, however, she did not have to. Curling up gratefully on the coverlet—no longer dusty, for someone had shaken it out—Callie brushed out her hair and tried very hard not to let fear overwhelm her.

Every wife had a wedding night. Many knew their husbands little if at all. Callie had never dared dream of a great love match like Mama and Papa’s. She’d hardly dared dream of marriage at all. She was much too practical to care about such things, really. Mr. Porter was likely no better and no worse than most men.

Hopefully.

Chapter 4

Ren’s urge for bestial audacity had worn away by the time he reached the top of the stairs. He couldn’t do it.

She was a respectable girl, if a bit odd. It was obvious that she loved her exasperating family, though Ren had already decided that he might happily live the rest of his short life without again laying eyes upon that obnoxious brother of hers.

He wasn’t going to force himself on her. He had to seduce her. He had to use every last pearl to arouse her lust so thoroughly that she wouldn’t mind consummating their bizarre bargain at some point.

In the dark.

Ren paused on the landing. He ought to bathe. And he hadn’t shaved for weeks.

Idiot. Do you really think that’s going to make you any less of a monster in her eyes?

Don’t you remember her face when she saw you? Have you so soon forgotten her scream of terror?

Ren shook off the thoughts. He meant to either make her want him, to feel the touch of a woman one last time, or to frighten her away so that he might be left in grim peace once more.

Either way made little difference to a man dying a slow but inevitable death.

*   *   *

There was a sound at the door and Callie peered at it, imagining that she could see the turning of the latch. The room was too dim, however, and all she managed to do was to blind herself on Mr. Porter’s candle as he entered.

Callie wanted to inch back on the bed—oh, why had she sat upon the bed?—or perhaps dive beneath it. Her wedding night had arrived, hooded in black, the Grim Reaper of Virgins.

Mr. Porter put the candle on the mantel, then turned his back to it and walked toward her. The light cast from behind him turned him into a specter, a creature of shadow and sin. Callie shivered though the room was fully warm.

How could she be here? How could she have come so far in a day? Unimaginably far. From spinster doomed to be caretaker of a careless family mired in a life of chaotic frugality to nearly naked bride of a dark and sinister man and mistress of his great house.

Well, I do like the house.

Callie swallowed down that burst of irreverence. Perhaps it was the hood, or the memory, now rising against her earlier suppression, of a ruined, twisted face of once unearthly beauty. Something told her that her humor would not bear her well through the next few hours.

Hours. Blimey. Would they be hours of wonder or of horror?

One might think, looking at the hooded figure before her, that she had just given her vows to a nightmare. Yet …

What harm had this man actually done?

Yes, he’d made a bit free with her the night before—but she had waltzed about his house in the middle of the night in her chemise. One could not precisely call that the act of a virtuous woman!

Furthermore, although Dade had handed the fellow a pistol, Mr. Porter had intentionally shot his bullet into the ground instead of into her beloved brother. Shadowed or not, this man had yet to evidence any desire to do harm to anyone.

So if this night was not to be a horror … perhaps it would be … a wonder?

Callie had a strong young body that had never felt the touch of a man until yesterday. Personally, she felt it was high time she experienced a little wonder. At the thought, her lips parted on a breath of anticipation.

Mr. Porter stopped short, as if riveted. Nervously, Callie darted her tongue over her lips. Even twisted and limping, he loomed over her.

Callie had always been partial to big men. She liked the sensation of feeling tiny and fragile in comparison.

Right now she felt minuscule.

His hands were big. That she remembered well from last night. Big and hot and gently implacable.

A hot burst of dampness between her thighs might have made Callie blush if she’d been able to drag her mind from the feel of his hot hands on her last night.

She rather thought she’d like to feel them again. Really. Now.

Unbelievably, she found herself sliding down off the bed and taking a step forward.

Heavens. How brazen of me. Oh, look, I’m doing it again.

Two steps brought her within arm’s reach of him. Then even her sensual ambition failed her and she halted. He would likely think her a true wanton now.

Imagine, me—a wanton.
A part of Callie was ridiculously pleased at the thought.
And here I thought I was such a shriveled old maid.

Oh, wait a moment. I’m married.

The wave of justified lust that swept through her made her draw a swift breath. Mr. Porter’s eyes were on her. She could almost feel his riveted gaze upon her uplifted bosom.

Yes, Mr. Porter. You can have these if you like.

She felt bold, brash … and very, very naughty. When Mr. Porter held up a single pearl between his large fingers, Callie felt just a little bit like a woman of ill repute, selling herself to a mysterious stranger. Heaven help her, but it made her blood flow all the hotter.

“Open your mouth.”

She obeyed instantly. After regarding her for a moment, he placed the pearl on her tongue.

“Don’t speak.” A husky note of humor wove through his deep voice. “And don’t swallow.”

Oh, my.
Callie let her lips close over the pearl and rolled the smooth orb over her tongue. Effectively gagged by the gem, she wondered what else this strange man had in store for her.

“Put your hands behind your back.”

Callie hesitantly placed her hands palm to palm behind her back and laced her fingers together. Now she stood as if bound. Oh, clever fellow. Her compliance was the only restraint he needed to prove his command over her. His dominance. And conversely, her submission.

The thought made her knees get a bit wobbly.
I think I might be more than a little wanton. I think I might be a great deal wanton
.

Mr. Porter stepped closer to her. His voice was little more than a husky whisper in her ear. “Close your eyes.”

Yes
. Her own instant compliance caused a deep throbbing down somewhere low and delicious. Bound, gagged, and blind—it was a heady rush of fear, lust, and more than a little naughty thrill. Her admiration for her own boldness grew by the moment.

I never knew I had such wickedness in me
.

However, the true question was … how had Mr. Porter known?

This was most definitely something she ought to think about.

Later.

In this heated, breathless moment of waiting, all she could think about was the moment his hot hands would touch her tingling skin.

The first thing she felt was the warmth of his breath as he bent close to her. “Little Miss Calliope Worthington—do you know what you unleash in me?”

It seemed more a personal thought than a direct question, so Callie felt a bit sorry for interrupting but accuracy was important to her. “Porter,” she breathed, after tucking the pearl into her cheek.

“Hmm?” He didn’t seem to be listening.

Callie cleared her throat. “Calliope Worthington … Porter.”

She felt his stillness. It seemed to last an hour, but it was likely only a breath or two. Then a low, rusty murmur breathed over her neck. “So you are. Now, shut up while I prove it to you.”

The possessive intent in those words stole Callie’s breath completely. She’d given herself over to this man, now standing bound, blindfolded, and gagged—well, sort of—before him.

Ren could scarcely believe his senses. The girl was … well, she certainly wasn’t fleeing him.

Even now she stood before him, her eyes closed, her lips holding the pearl, and her hands quite willingly clasped behind her back.

She looked so sweetly erotic that Ren had trouble looking away long enough to remove his hood and leave it close to the door. He kept his back to the candle, just in case she peeked, and approached his bride uncovered at last.

So willing. Could it be true? Perhaps she was screaming on the inside, biting back her revulsion …

Ren reached for her with one damnedly tentative hand. She started slightly when his fingertips brushed her neck, but she didn’t draw back. Emboldened, Ren allowed his touch to trail down her throat, down to the hollow. She swallowed, he felt it, but unbelievably, she did not seem panicked in the slightest.

Curious, he shifted direction and laid his open palm over her heart, just covering the top of her breast. Her pulse pounded, healthy and strong and, yes, excited or perhaps frightened, but not shaken or panicked.

Her skin …

He’d been aware of the heat of her last night, of the soft roundness of her bottom pressing into his groin, of the weight of her breasts in his hands for that brief instant, but now he found himself mesmerized by the simple fine-grained perfection of her lovely skin. He ran curious fingers up over her shoulder and down her upper arm. She was like warm satin, or perhaps sweet cream, whipped to firmness. Though his lust throbbed like a long-aching wound, Ren found himself perfectly willing to do no more than touch his deliciously submissive bride.

His lips quirked at the thought that if he asked no more of her this night, he would have lost only one pearl … and he rather thought he could make the other two hundred and twenty-odd pearls last.

If he played his hand well, he could keep this appealing creature at his side for nearly a year.

He had to be sure. “Pretty Calliope. You seem rather … resigned to your fate tonight. Might I even suggest … willing?”

Callie didn’t bother to hide her shiver of anticipation. Willing. Well, yes. Or one might say eager. Enthused. Ardent.

Once she had overheard Dade and Lysander discussing how long it had been since they’d had a lover. Upon Lysander’s admittance that it had been more than a year, his brother had been nearly dumbstruck with pity. “How have you survived for so long?”

That was how Callie felt at this moment. She’d been living her life, filling her days, and never allowing herself to think about the fact that for her, it had been so much more than a year.

It had been always.

It had been
never
.

How had she survived so long?

She felt as though she strained toward Mr. Porter like a hound on a leash. She wanted so much to feel, to touch, to be touched. She felt absolutely parched for love. And if Mr. Porter didn’t hurry it up, she was going to expire completely for the lack of it!

At the touch of his fingertips on her neck, Callie shivered and nearly wept with joy. Whether for good or ill, she would be bedded tonight, well and proper. The great mystery, the empty places, the great and gloomy lack in her life would be fulfilled at last.

Then all rational thought was swept away.

Hands. Hands all over her, like shocking hot brands searing her skin, making it tingle and burn and live. Hands wide and rough and powerful, sliding all over her body, up under her chemise, dipping and scorching and teasing. She felt encompassed. She felt owned. She felt invaded and yet also protected. No harm would come to her whilst she dwelled in those hands. He was not tender … yet she could feel the care in those hands. He knew his strength and he did not use it on her.

A man with hands like those had touched a woman before. Many women? She scarcely cared. All the better to prepare him for this night, for this time with her, time that just might turn out to be a wonder after all.

Hot seeking hands covered her bare hips, gripped them, tugged slightly, rocking her in a motion she didn’t know yet recognized in some primal corner of her soul.
Yes. Hold me there. Hold me tight while you …

But he didn’t. His hands slid down, stroking and cupping her buttocks, squeezing slightly, lifting and parting them. She was exposed. She shivered, because although her eyes were closed and she was blind, he was not.

“Be still,” he commanded.

She stilled. All the lust she could ever wish to hear was contained in his voice, husky, aching. Did he know he gave himself away to her like that? This man she’d never truly seen, was seeing her … yet he was not as hidden from her as he might like to believe. When one couldn’t see another’s face, one listened more closely to their voice, was more sensitive to their touch. This man … though his voice shook with lust and need and stark, agonizing loneliness, his touch caressed and protected.

He didn’t love her. He scarcely knew her. This could have meant terror and intimidation for her … yet his need exposed him to her closed eyes as if he stood in full sun.

I see you, Mr. Porter.

“Remove this.” He’d stepped away from her, taking his hot hands with him.

She shivered, feeling suddenly colder. Since she wore nothing but the chemise, it was clear that he meant her to be entirely naked before him. Callie hesitated. Yet, what did it matter if he wished to see what he had already touched? Keeping her eyes closed most obediently, she reached for the hem of the chemise and lifted it over her head.