Page 17

A s Michael gazed into Cecilia’s damp, flushed face, he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt more at peace. His body was still afire with lust, and he could have kept pumping away until he was ready to do it all over again, but his wife had been a virgin.

At last, she was his wife in truth.

She searched his face with wide eyes, her lips parted. She almost seemed bewildered, as if emerging from a dream. Very carefully, he slid out of her body, already missing her as if he’d found what he’d been searching for his whole life. He rolled onto his back, then gathered her against him so that her cheek rested on his shoulder. But she seemed tense, as though she might flee if he made one wrong move. So he said nothing, just stroked her hair where it tumbled in a tangle across his chest.

Then, to his surprise, her eyes drifted closed, and she fell asleep without a word.

Michael was usually the silent one in any relationship, and her behavior briefly puzzled him. But she’d been fearing for her life for days now, perhaps lying awake, listening for footsteps. He winced, remembering how many times he himself had walked past her door as he patrolled the corridors.

He came up on his elbow to blow out the last candle, then drew the blankets over them both. He kissed her tousled hair, silently promising she would never have to be alone with her worry again.

C ecilia slowly came awake, warm to her core, vaguely surprised that sunlight streamed in the windows. She’d never drawn the curtains, she drowsily thought. And she never slept this long.

And then all the rest of her senses returned in a rush as she realized she was lying on her side, that Michael was snug against her back, their naked bodies spooned together, his very obvious arousal nestled against her backside. His large arm encompassed her waist, his hand loosely cupping her breast.

She went tense with surprise and burgeoning regret, even as she heard him snore softly into her ear. Letting out her breath, she closed her eyes, barely stopping herself from groaning loud enough to wake him.

What had she done?

She’d become his wife in truth, and any chance of invalidating the marriage was gone. Her emotions seemed all jumbled inside her as the memories of their night together overwhelmed her. She’d been like an animal, so desperately in need of him, she’d allowed him to do ... anything he wanted. It had felt good, no doubt about it, but that didn’t make such absolute baseness forgivable.

She moved the tiniest bit and could already feel a tenderness at the juncture of her thighs from his lovemaking. He’d been forceful and overpowering, and she’d wanted all of it. Even now, as she stared down at his hand against her breast, she could have pressed herself into him to feel it all over again.

She couldn’t be so close to him; she couldn’t want him this much, depend on him. He was leaving her, and she wasn’t going with him. She might be married, but it didn’t mean she would lose herself in him, or lose herself in sorrow when he left. She would go on as she had before, in control of her life and her emotions. She wouldn’t let herself love him or need him—he had to understand that.

But, of course, she needed his help to find whoever wanted to harm her.

But oh God, he felt so good against her, his body sinfully warm and alluring. She could have sunk into him, beneath him, and let all that rough masculinity consume her. Instead, she gritted her teeth and forced herself to slide toward the edge of the bed.

He caught her back against him, and she gasped.

“Good morning, wife,” he murmured into her ear.

She shivered at the rumbling of his voice, which seemed to echo through his ribs and into hers. His hand was no longer loose but cupped her breast firmly, playing with it, teasing it into a point that abraded his palm and made a surge of pleasure shoot all the way into the pit of her stomach. And then he slid his hand down her torso and between her thighs to boldly cup her.

She pushed him off her and vaulted from the bed, standing dazed and naked on the carpet. Where were the garments she’d so wantonly relinquished in her frenzy the night before?

Michael pushed himself up on one arm, his eyes full of admiration, the covers falling loosely about his waist. “You look exquisite with the morning sun bathing you in light.”

Without thinking about it, she crossed her arms over her breasts and groin. Laughing, he dropped back on the bed, arms wide, body arched as he seemed to stretch every muscle. She gaped at him, shocked at how much she enjoyed the sight of all the masculine beauty dominating her feminine bed.

He grinned at her, as if he knew what she was thinking. She couldn’t stop staring at his face either, the way his smile transformed her sober soldier into a lighthearted lover. Once again, she had the strangest feeling that only she had ever been privileged enough to see this satisfied, relaxed side of him. It made her feel all funny and melancholy and sweet inside, and she desperately ran for her dressing gown. Only when it was belted around her did she let out her breath and close her eyes.

She practically jumped a foot when she felt his arms close about her from behind.

“Come back to bed,” he urged.

“You’re naked!”

She tried to pull away, but he seemed to think it a game and only held her tighter.

“Naked and eager for you,” he replied.

“I can’t do this!” she cried.

He let her go, and she only briefly saw his happiness fade before she firmly turned her back.

“Please don your trousers. I can’t—I can’t talk when you’re like”—she waved her arm in his direction—“that!”

After a minute of rustling, he quietly said, “Very well, I’m decent. Now you can talk to me.”

She turned around to find him leaning on his cane, nude from the waist up. Briefly, she had a flash of memory of the terrible wound in his leg. But she couldn’t afford to feel any sympathy right now.

And she couldn’t keep looking at his impressive chest, full of muscles she couldn’t imagine having, tiny ripples of them leading down his stomach. She forced herself to bravely meet his eyes and not feel sadness at the lack of emotion there. Only moments ago, he’d been so happy, but she couldn’t let him think that was how their life would now be.

“I guess you have what you wanted, a legal marriage,” she said, trying to sound as impassive as he always could. “I know I initiated all of this.” She threw her arms wide. “But I would have ended it, and you pursued me.”

“You’re my wife. What did you expect me to do? I did not force you to make love with me last night.”

“I know,” she whispered, letting out her breath in a sigh. “I’m not blaming you.”

The tension in his shoulders eased, and he took several steps toward her. “Then why are you so upset?” he asked in a quieter voice.

“Because intimacy doesn’t change things between us! You need to know that. We can’t have a normal marriage. You’re going back to India, and I’m staying here.”

He inhaled. “After this, I thought you’d see we belong together. When Oliver reaches his maturity, you’ll be free of the estate. You could travel.”

“First, you imply that my brother might mean me harm, and now you’re talking as if he’s a functioning earl, ready to assume every responsibility. Which is it, Michael?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “We will find out who wants to harm you, then we’ll deal with what comes after.”

“I know how I want to deal with what comes after,” she said, trying to sound like she had everything figured out. “You have a career in the army, and I’m here. I can’t risk the livelihood of everyone on all the Appertan estates by abandoning them.”

“And I can’t abandon my family without a source of income,” he answered, sighing. “I have some small shipping investments just beginning in India. Perhaps sometime in the future ...”

“And you’d just give up on your career, what you’re best at?” she asked pointedly. “Or do you think I’d blithely follow you to India? I won’t, Michael. That country was the death of my brother and mother, even my father. It tore apart our family. I won’t be second place again.”

They stared at each other, and she tried to keep composed, but for some reason, her eyes were stinging, and she knew her nose was getting red.

And then a knock sounded at the door, startling her. “May I answer my own door? I don’t imagine a villain would ask permission to enter.”

“If it’s the easiest, most unexpected way to get to you, he might.” He raised his voice. “Who’s there?”

“Nell, milord.”

“We still have much to discuss about your current situation,” Michael said, pulling his shirt over his head and tucking it into his trousers.

His choice of words was almost amusing. She found it easier to breathe without staring at all his flesh, remembering where she’d pressed her lips, how she’d licked the salt from his skin. It was as if she were a different person in the night. “Please allow me to dress first. I’ll have Nell send up breakfast, and we can eat here in privacy, where no one will overhear us.”

“Very well.”

“Come in, Nell,” Cecilia called, trying not to sound relieved.

As the maid bustled in, Cecilia knew her own face was bright red. The counterpane was in a pile near the chaise longue, and to her horror, her nightgown was in a discarded heap nearby.

“I’ve a bath on its way, Lady Blackthorne,” Nell said, nodding politely to Michael. “Milord, Tom tells me he’s seein’ to one for you.”

“My thanks, Nell,” he said.

Then, to Cecilia’s surprise, he took her hand and brought it to his lips. She wanted to pull away, to furiously ask if he’d heard anything she said.

“Until breakfast, Cecilia,” he murmured, and in his eyes was a promise that their discussion wasn’t over yet.

She couldn’t help but stare after him as he started to leave the room.

Suddenly, Nell called, “Wait, milord, I’ve a message for ye. In the commotion of Lady Blackthorne’s scare yesterday, and then dinner, Will forgot to let ye know he returned with a letter from yer family.”

“Returned?” Michael said blankly.

Cecilia winced. “Because of yesterday’s ... upheaval, I forgot to tell you that I sent a letter to your family first thing in the morning inviting them for a visit.” He frowned at her, and she hurried on. “I felt bad that you’d delayed visiting them, and I didn’t want your mother to think that a woman of poor manners had married her son.”

When he narrowed his eyes, it was obvious that he didn’t believe her explanation for even a moment.

But he turned to Nell. “And where is the message?”

She removed a sealed envelope from a pocket in her apron and handed it to him. Without looking at Cecilia, he left the room.

She stared after him, feeling both guilty she hadn’t told him and irritated that he had chosen not to share the letter with her. But, of course, she would hate it if he’d gone behind her back in the same manner. Her actions seemed ... underhanded.

She heard Nell moving about the room, humming even as she picked up the nightgown. There was nothing normal about this situation, though Nell pretended otherwise. When the maid began to remove the bedsheets, Cecilia groaned and closed her eyes, remembering that there might be evidence of her “wedding night.”

“Now there’s nothin’ to be shy about, milady,” Nell said matter-of-factly. “I knew the moment you were left to die in that hole that his lordship would never let you sleep alone. And such a virile man as hisself? O’ course he would never be able to keep his hands from his own wife, beauty that ye are. And I say it’s about time. Everyone could see how fascinated ye both were with the other.”

“Everyone but me, apparently,” Cecilia said grumpily, sitting down at her dressing table and glancing at the mirror. She stared in horror at her wild hair, her bare throat, the gaping dressing gown that showed far too much of her breasts. “Good lord!”

“That’s what a man likes to see in the mornin’,” Nell said with satisfaction.

“And how do you know that?” Cecilia demanded.

“I hear things ...” she said innocently, then went back to humming.

Cecilia slipped behind the changing screen while the pages carried in the bathing tub and buckets of hot water. The bath felt soothing, and she tried not to think of anything, simply let Nell care for her.

Nell tsked over her bruised cheek. “Ye poor mite,” she murmured.

“I’m all right,” Cecilia said. “And I promise I’ll take things easy today.”

“Good, ye deserve to be pampered and petted.”

And then she chuckled, even as Cecilia felt her face heat with embarrassment. Her gaze kept returning to the dressing-room door, as if she expected Michael to burst back in, wearing the furious expression she’d only seen once, when Sir Bevis had attacked her during Oliver’s billiards party. She should be relieved, she told herself. She wanted to keep some distance between them, and the letter would certainly help. But Michael didn’t arrive, and soon she was dressed, with breakfast on its way. Dismissing the servants, she went through the dressing room, took a deep breath, and knocked on his door.