Page 16 of Rogue of My Heart
Raine’s heart dropped to her knees. She swiveled on the bench, marble snagging her dress. “How did you know?”
Charlotte chewed on her lip, her smile when it broke through positively wicked. “You crossed the main hall yesterday on your way to the kitchens. You were reading a book and almost walked into a wall. Mister Bainbridge was at the front door with Lord Jonathan, and his gaze followed you until you were lost from sight. His expression…” She fanned her cheeks and trailed the daisy across them. “His expression was a study in dazzled befuddlement. He had to shake himself out of a stupor as if he’d had a sudden rush of blood to the head.” She pointed her flower at Raine, shrugged a slim shoulder. “He’s been here before, and certainly, there have been rumors in the scandal sheets, men will be men, but he’s always seemed lonely to me. Remote, without anyone except that scamp of a valet, Mister Pennington, by his side. So, my dear Miss Mowbray, what you can offer, if he loves you, is you. Not funds or property or a silly title, but you. And you are the only you he’ll ever be lucky enough to find.”
Raine watched a ladybug crawl along the bench and, with a flicker of its wings, drift from sight. The anguish in Kit’s voice when he spoke of having no one after his family died whispered through her mind. Even with the wenches and the watches, she suspected he was lonely. In a way only someone just as lonely could understand. “Will the duke be incensed if I agree to marry Mister Bainbridge and move to London? He did go to such trouble to secure my future and get me away from Tavistock House.”
Charlotte giggled and threw her arm around Raine’s shoulder, sending their daisies tumbling to the grass. “He’s a romantic! Do you see the way he looks at the duchess when she doesn’t know he’s looking? He’ll be extremely happy for you. Just think, we can have another wedding in the chapel! This is the most glorious year ever!”
Abigail Frank and Rex Ableman had gotten married in the estate’s chapel just after Raine arrived at Hartland Abbey, and Charlotte and Phillip had married there one month ago.
“Are you going to say yes?” Charlotte asked. “Tell me you are. I’ll help you plan, and we can have a dress made and…”
Raine smiled softly and ducked her head, Charlotte’s excited chatter flowing over her, the image of taking Kit’s hand in the enchanting Devon sanctuary too wonderful to imagine.
She only had to find the courage to seize her heart’s desire.
It was as simple as that.
Six
Hartland Abbey was tranquil, hushed, servants above and below stair asleep, duties complete. Kitchens cleaned, wicks extinguished, floors swept, beds turned, basins freshened. Raine tiptoed down the hallway, halting at Kit’s bedchamber door. It had been easy, a remark about the delivery of a letter that didn’t exist, to find out which room was his. She placed her hand on the walnut door as if she’d be able to feel his presence, then laughed at herself for such lovesick foolishness.
She stood there for a minute, perhaps two, the tick of a mantel clock Kit had likely recalibrated signaling the passing of time and her increasing cowardice.
“Damn and blast,” Raine whispered and tapped on the door. How hard was it to tell a man you loved him? Wanted to marry him. Live the rest of your days watching him fiddle with his timepieces. Translate his ridiculously intricate chronometer designs and have his undoubtedly gorgeous children.
She pressed her hand to her quivering belly.
Very hard, indeed.
The knob squealed, and the door inched open. Raine exhaled, then caught herself, and clamped her lips shut as Christian moved into view, perching his shoulder on the doorjamb with a look of surprise, pleasure, and finally, uncertainty. She took him in from head to toe. Heavens. Trousers hanging low on his lean hips. No shirt, no shoes, no stockings. A dusting of hair on his chest that trailed down and into his wrinkled waistband. His body was lean but layered with muscle. A body she wanted to press into service, to warm like clay with her hands and sculpt. Her skin flushed, a steady, unfamiliar pulse settling between her thighs.
She’d never seen a man in such an unclothed state—but she presumed from her response that she rather liked it.
He allowed the perusal, patient, relaxed, a wry smile turning his lips, that enchanting dimple denting his cheek. “Do I pass muster?” he murmured after a charged pause, rotating the tiny screwdriver he held in his hand.
She nodded to the tool. “Do you work at all hours?”
He glanced at her bare toes peeping from the hem of her dress with a raised brow. “It’s what I have, Miss Mowbray. It’s what I have.”
She flushed, not about to tell him she’d raced from her attic bedchamber to his door without stockings or slippers. “Are you going to send me away?” she asked because he seemed to be guarding the room.
In response, Christian trailed the pointed tip of the screwdriver from the end of her ring finger to her wrist. She sucked in a gasp, her hand flexing, her knees trembling beneath her skirt. “Are you going to marry me, Raine? Not to sound missish, but if you want this”—he nodded to the bedchamber—“you’re going to have to marry me to get it. My body, mind, and soul are yours if you’ll agree to take them. But I won’t ruin you. I won’t. And I can’t share any more of myself and wonder if I’ll get it back. I’m in too deep for that.” He swallowed hard, his sapphire eyes darting to the floor, and she knew with such sweet simplicity that her roguish, complicated, brilliant watchmaker was as delicate of heart as she. “You fear being beholden, but what if I were to tell you I would be wholly beholden as well? What if we are worth more than any promise you made to yourself?” His gaze lifted, his earnestness smoothing away her fear like a plane to rough wood. “I won’t own you in any way you don’t own me.”
Encouraged by his passionate focus, she wiggled the screwdriver from his grasp and trailed it along the line of hair on his chest, over his ribs, halting at his navel. He blew out a startled breath and whispered her name beneath it. Two could play this game, she thought. And she’d always loved games. “You’ve decided then?”
His muscles quivered beneath the cool metal. “In 1810, as a matter of fact.”
She laughed, freely, joyously, astonished by her boldness. “What about the wenches?”
With a quick look down the thankfully deserted hallway, he grasped her wrist and dragged her into the room. “No more wenches. You, my lovely bluestocking, are more than enough for this lifetime.”
Turning, she rested against the door, the taper on the bedside table throwing a golden glow over a space that held his scent so firmly she felt a quiver run through her. Bluestocking. How odd. How enchanting. “Kit Bainbridge, if I tell you I love you more than I imagined possible, that I don’t want to be without you for another moment, that you are the most incredible man I’ve ever met, can I have a modest token of appreciation before the wedding? Our wedding.” She pressed her lips together, holding back her smile as he absorbed her adoring confession. “A kiss, perhaps. Like the one in the study earlier today. That little thing you did, when you nibbled on my bottom lip. Heavenly.”
“I think I can arrange that,” he whispered and reached, tugging her mobcap from her head and dropping it to the floor. Removed one hairpin at a time until her chignon collapsed over her shoulders in a golden shroud. “Your hair is divine. Never restrain it. Beautiful things should be able to follow their own will.” He filled his hand with the strands, trailing his fingers up the nape of her neck and bringing her against his hard body.
She caught his shoulders and swayed, melting into him. His skin was warm beneath her questing fingers, a smattering of hair on his chest, a mottled scar on his shoulder.
Tipping her head high, he captured her lips beneath his and circled her, once, twice, like they waltzed across a ballroom. He breathed into her mouth, used his tongue to engage and attack, unleashing her rabid hunger. Bowing into him, she threaded her arms around his neck and put every part of her lonely soul into the kiss, without hesitation or fear. Within moments, they were lost.