Almost Perfect (17 page)

“I dare say it’ll look even worse by the morrow. Maggie may have something to ease the bruising and take down the swelling.”

There was no expression on his face or in his eyes. She might as well have been an injured horse.

“Thank you, my lord,” she replied, feeling more alone than she’d ever known possible.

His gray eyes grew as cold as the room. “Lucien.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cassie asked, startled.

“My wife calls me Lucien,” he said, that angry, challenging edge to his voice.

“Do I?” she asked, her tone studied and blank. “And, what do you call me?”

He blinked as if surprised by her return challenge then determination flared to life in his eyes. Reaching up, he ran his fingers down the curve of her cheek. Cassie’s heart twisted. He’d offered her the same caress in Lord Ryecroft’s garden, but then it had been filled with real emotion, albeit lust. Now, all his fingers against her skin conveyed was threat.

“I have called you Cassie,” he answered grudgingly.

She stared at him, flabbergasted. The comfortable way he pronounced her pet name suggested that he had, indeed, been referring to her as Cassie in his mind, instead of Mrs. Marston or even Cassandra. Only the people who loved her called her Cassie.

As if speaking her name freed something within him, Lucien’s expression softened. In that instant he became the man who’d stolen her heart six years ago, the same man who’d claimed her kiss in the garden two nights past. This was the husband Cassie wanted, a friend with whom she could laugh and tease and a man who cared enough for her not to leave her injured and alone on a deserted road. A lover, who respected her enough to retreat when she told him no.

Without thought Cassie reached out to claim that man, wanting him more than she dreamed possible. She laid her hand on his shoulder. The ice melted from Lucien’s gaze. This time when his fingers came to rest against her cheek all the affection Cassie craved filled his touch.

Footsteps rapped sharply across the floor of Lucien’s bedchamber. Lucien snatched back his hand and came to his feet, his eyes once again as hard as ice. Maggie bustled in and hurried to the hearth, carrying an armload of wood.

“Maggie, when you’ve seen to my wife”--again Lucien stumbled over the word, no doubt despising it as much as Cassie did at the moment--”I’ll be wanting dinner. Have you enough for the four of us?”

“Aye, m’lord,” Maggie replied without turning to look at him as she placed wood and kindling in the hearth. “Will you and your lady dine together in the hall?”

The thought of dining across a table from Lucien made Cassie cringe. He glanced at her, his expression flat. “I doubt she can manage the stairs.”

Cassie took his words to heart. If she’d been his true wife he would have carried her down to his hall just as he’d carried her up here. But, she wasn’t his wife, and he would never be the husband she’d dreamed about six years ago.

“It’s just as well that I eat in my chamber tonight,” Cassie said. “I fear I’m exhausted.”

“As you will, m’lady,” the Scotswoman replied without looking up from her chore.

Lucien turned on his heel and crossed into his own bedchamber, closing the door behind him. Maggie opened the flue and brought the fire to life, then came to Cassie. Without a word of introduction or any show of deference she knelt and examined Cassie’s injured knee, moving it much as Lucien had. Again, Cassie flinched.

“Na more than a wrench despite the pretty colors,” Maggie pronounced a moment later. “I’ve a liniment that should help.”

She looked up into Cassie’s face. Approval, amusement and deep pleasure all flashed in her green eyes. “I’d offer ye a bath, but the tub canna come up yon wee stairs and ye canna come down to the kitchen, not without aid and it doesna appear as his lordship wishes to offer ye that aid. What say ye to a bucket of water, soap and a towel?”

“Yes, thank you very much,” Cassie said, wanting very much to be free of mud.

“So, ye’ve no memory at all?” Maggie asked, the lines of her face flattening back into her tight expression.

“None at all,” Cassie replied flatly; then being a fraud got the better of her. The words she couldn’t speak to Lucien exploded past her lips. “How can you be so kind to me when you have to know”--she started.

Maggie put a hasty finger against Cassie’s lips to stop her. “Na more, my lady. There’s much ye canna ken about this wee drama of yers. All that matters t’me is that ye were found on the road in a fallen coach and that ye’ve na any recall of yer own good husband. Now, here’s a bit fer ye to chew on. Two summers and a good part of last spring and autumn has Lord Graceton spent in this house, serving his mourning period as if he truly grieved when I think he canna have been much pained by his wife’s passing. In that time he’s na brought man nor woman here. Until ye.”

She gave special emphasis to this as if there was some import to Cassie’s arrival here in Lucien’s custody. Cassie knew better. The only reason Lucien brought her here was that he wanted to twist the truth out of her before he was forced to admit to his own bad behavior.

“Now, we’ll say na more of that, my lady,” Maggie said, the honorific rolling far more easily off her tongue than the word wife did from Lucien’s. “I’ll fetch ye water and yer liniment.”

Cassie awoke with a start. Her heart pounding, she fought her way free of a dream in which she again swung that urn at Lord Bucksden. She stared into the darkness, lost for an instant in the deep shadows and silvery half light around her. Embers snapped and popped, the wind howled. Rain rattled at window panes. The dwelling creaked and groaned in the stillness of night.

And she was utterly nude beneath her bedclothes.

The day rushed back over her, the toppled coach, Eliza’s departure on horseback, Lucien and her supposedly missing memory. Missing memory, indeed. The only thing Cassie couldn’t remember was falling asleep in this bed.

She recalled washing, then Maggie taking away her muddy clothing, promising to bring up Cassie’s nightgown when Jamie returned with her belongings. Cassie had then yawned her way into the meal Maggie brought, dining upright in bed, coddling her leg. After that, there was nothing, including anyone taking away her dinner tray.

Sighing, she slid deeper into her bedclothes. Her knee twinged, but not as badly as it had earlier. She’d never before slept unclad. It was a sensuous feeling, smooth cotton against her skin.

She rolled carefully onto her opposite side. A thick unnatural shape loomed, framed in the open doorway. Cassie gave a startled, wordless cry.

“You were moaning in your sleep,” Lucien said.

“Oh, it’s you,” she gasped. Separating his form from the enclosing night, she discerned the grayer tones of his flesh and hair from the darkness that must be his bedrobe.

“Who else would be in your bedchamber except your husband?” he retorted, but this time the bitterness in his voice wasn’t aimed just at her.

The reminder of how Lord Bucksden had hurt him brought Cassie completely awake. “Who else, indeed,” she murmured. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“I wasn’t yet asleep.”

Lucien came to her bedside. That his footfalls made no sound said his feet were bare. He sat beside her, his weight making the bed dip.

As always happened when they were close, the heat of his body reached out to her, his sandalwood scent taunting. Cassie looked up at him, picking out his features. There was nothing tousled about his appearance. He hadn’t been sleeping.

No, he’d been waiting.

Her heartbeat lifted to a nervous pace. He was going to do it. He was going to force her to choose between protecting her heart and body from him or protecting Eliza.

It was her turn to bluff, only she had nothing in her hand, or rather on her body, that could support her ruse. “What time is it?” she asked, stalling.

“Late. Very late. Long past time to be abed,” Lucien said, then leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek.

There it was, his threat. He moved his mouth, touching his lips to hers. It was a dry kiss, lacking any trace of the passion he’d shown her in the garden.

Cassie didn’t know whether to exult or cry. He didn’t expect her to let him into her bed or her body. He expected her to fold before his bluff, his husbandly demand, and give him his confession.

If not for her dream and her fear of being vulnerable to Lord Bucksden she might have done it. At least, that was the excuse she gave herself for persisting in her ruse. “Then you should go to bed,” she told him.

Consternation wafted from him. She’d again upped the ante in their game when they both knew her hand was no match for his. “I intend to,” he replied, his lips hovering over her ear, his breath caressing her skin.

Cassie shivered. “But isn’t your bed in the other room?” she asked, demanding that he show his hand.

“Yes, but I’ve decided to sleep in here tonight,” he murmured, now nuzzling her ear.

Cassie shivered. Every inch of her body came to life, demanding that she invite Lucien to join her. It was to stop her, not him, that she spewed the awful nonsense she’d practiced during this morning’s interminable ride.

“Please, Lucien,” she said, his given name coming less fluidly from her lips than her pet name had come from his. “Wait a few days or perhaps a week. Surely by then I’ll have regained my memory and you’ll no longer be a stranger to me.”

There wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in a single syllable. Damnation. Cassie closed her eyes. Why couldn’t she be one of those women who found a wife’s duty distasteful?

“How can you say we’re strangers,” Lucien whispered against her throat. “We’re husband and wife.”

Something wicked stirred deep in Cassie. Why should she worry about what she and Lucien did here tonight? She’d be gone to America soon enough. As for carrying his child she was probably barren. She’d been two years married without so much as a flicker of life in her womb.

Sighing in resignation and trembling in anticipation, Cassie turned her head to the side, craving Lucien’s kiss against her nape. He released a startled breath, his mouth again hovering a bare inch above her skin. A shiver flew down her spine. Lord, but she was worse than a wanton if all it took to set her senses on fire was the idea of his kiss.

What in God’s hell was she doing? Lucien reared back from her.

Giving herself to him, that’s what.

But she wasn’t supposed to agree to let him into her bed. She was supposed to confess to being a sharp. Why wasn’t she folding now that he’d called her bluff?

She made a quiet sound and turned her head to look up at him. The gentle curve of her cheek and the line of her nose glowed pale white in the night. Her eyes glinted.

Slowly, she drew her arms out from beneath her bedclothes. What remained of rational thought in Lucien died. Not so much as a scrap of fabric covered her arms. She was naked beneath the bedclothes.

Reaching up, she brushed her fingers across his chin then traced the outline of his lips. Without thought Lucien turned his head to kiss her fingertips. Her caress moved on across his cheek until she gently combed her fingers into his hair.

He closed his eyes, lost in sensation. When she traced the outline of his ear he laid his hand on her wrist and stroked the naked length of her arm. Then, cupping her cheek in his palm, he leaned down to brush his mouth across hers. She gave a tiny gasp at his play and caught his mouth with hers. Her lips softened, begging him to kiss her the way he’d done in the garden.

Unfettered by thought or purpose, Lucien’s need for her, six years denied, exploded into an inferno of wanting. He buried his hands into her hair and gave her what she requested. His mouth moved across hers, his kiss filled with every ounce of desire she’d awakened in him. She made a tiny sound. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled herself against him, rising off the mattress just far enough that she exposed her back to Lucien.

He couldn’t resist, not after the interlude in Ryecroft Castle’s corridor. He stroked the length of her spine, bringing his hand to a stop against the curve of her hip. Her skin felt every bit as wondrous as he’d imagined.

He kissed her cheek, her ear, then down her neck until he nuzzled at her nape as she’d begged him to do a moment ago. She moaned, arching against him in taunting pantomime of the joining they both craved.

Lucien shook, wanting to feel her breasts against his chest. No, he wanted to feel every inch of her skin touching his. Releasing her, he dropped his bedrobe. It was all he wore. All of his belongings, his nightshirt included, were still at Ryecroft Castle.

Catching the corner of the coverlet, he started to pull back the bedclothes. Cassie gasped and put a hand at the top of her chest to hold the bedclothes in place.

“Don’t,” she cried softly.

Anger sliced through what already raged in him. The devil take her! She was again trying to use his desire against him. Not this time. He reached for the coverlet again. This time she only slid to the side a little as if making room for him.

“It’s only that I barely know you,” she whispered.

It wasn’t the shrill protest Lucien expected, but of late none of Cassie’s responses had been what he expected. No matter her reason, for six years she’d haunted his dreams and his desires. He needed to see her.

He tossed aside the bedclothes. She made a small sound but didn’t try to shield her body from his view. Lucien breathed out in appreciation.

It wasn’t dark enough to conceal her. Instead shadows clung to the hollow in her throat and the valley between her breasts, marking her navel and concealing the temptation that hid in the triangle of hair between her thighs. He traced the slender curve of her waist from her ribs to the gentle flare of her hips. She caught his hand, twining her fingers with his then pulling up the coverlet until most of her was again covered.

“This is wrong,” she whispered. Honesty rang in her voice.

Everything in Lucien howled in protest. She was going to confess! She couldn’t do it now, not when he’d never wanted a woman as much as he wanted her.

“How can it be wrong when we are man and wife?” he argued quietly. With those words he tossed aside the last remnants of the honorable man he’d once believed himself. Better a lie than to lose Cassie now.

“Are we?” she pleaded.

Lucien’s need flared even higher. She wanted to be persuaded to give herself to him as deeply as he wanted her pliant beneath him. Lifting the bedclothes, he joined her in the bed. The linens were warm, smelling of fresh air, Maggie’s liniment and Cassie.

Lying on his side, bracing himself on his forearm, he nestled on his side against her. His thigh pressed to hers, his ready shaft touching the gentle curve of her belly. Rather than recoil, she shifted even closer. Lost in sensation, Lucien closed his eyes.

“Of course we’re married,” he said. “We’ve been wed these past six years.”

His eyes opened. Why had he said six years when any number would have served? He sighed in understanding. He’d been a fool not to wed Cassie six years ago. Damn his arrogance. He’d discarded the clever, charming woman he wanted because she had a degraded father and no fortune to wed a feckless tart with blue blood and nearly as much money as he had.

“Have they been happy years?” Cassie whispered, running her hand across his chest, boldly acquainting herself with his body.

Her touch robbed Lucien of his voice, but not his need to explore her the way she was discovering him. He drew his fingers up from her hip to her waist, coming to a stop beneath her breast. Her hand against his chest stilled. He traced the circumference of her breast with a finger.

“Have we been happy?” she whispered again, her voice hoarse and trembling.

“Deliriously,” he replied. Delirious was the perfect word for how he felt at the moment.

As he again kissed her he brushed his thumb across her breast’s peak. Cassie cried out, thrusting as boldly into his caress as she’d done in the garden. The sound of her pleasure drove his own higher.

Lucien touched his lips to her breast, doing what her corset had prevented in Devanney’s garden. Again, she cried out, threading her fingers into his hair to hold his mouth where it was. Lucien groaned as need for her blazed past any hope of containment. He suckled like a babe, listening to the sounds of her pleasure while lost in his own.

When he could bear it no longer he took her mouth with his, then slid his fingers over the curve of her abdomen until he stroked her nether lips. She jerked against him in welcome response to his caress, as ready and eager as he. Then, she was pushing back from him, easing across the mattress away from him. Beyond control, Lucien followed her, pulling her beneath him, breathing out in satisfaction as her legs opened to him. She braced her hands against his shoulders to keep him from lying full atop her.

“But do we love each other?” she demanded, breathless with the same need driving him past sanity.

Kneeling above her, Lucien caught her hands in his. Twining his fingers with hers, he again lowered himself atop her, pressing the backs of her hands against the mattress so she could resist him no longer. He savored the feeling of her beneath him and the sensation of his shaft brushing the entrance to her womb.

With her hands trapped in his, he pressed a kiss to her lips, then another, and another until she made a greedy sound, wanting something more substantial. He smiled.

“Do we love each other? Yes, with all our hearts,” he breathed against her lips. “Come, Cassie. Love me.”