Julie Garwood - [3 Book Box Set] (123 page)

She didn’t have to answer. The solicitors interrupted each other as they hastened to explain that the Countess had struck her niece.

Lyon turned to Christina’s aunt. “If you ever touch her again, you won’t live to boast of it. Do you understand me?”

The aunt’s eyes turned to slits, and her voice was filled with venom when she answered Lyon. “I know all about you. Yes, you would kill a defenseless woman, wouldn’t you? Christina’s going home with me now. This marriage will be annulled.”

“It will not,” Lyon answered.

“I’ll go to the authorities,” the Countess shouted, so forcefully that the veins stood out in the sides of her neck.

“Do that,” Lyon answered, his voice soft. “And after you’ve spoken to them, I’ll send your friend Splickler to tell them the rest of the story.”

The Countess let out a shrill gasp. “You cannot prove—”

“Oh, but I already have,” Lyon interjected. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes changed his expression. “Splickler has conveniently written everything down on paper, Countess. If you want to make trouble, go right ahead.”

“You can’t believe I had anything to do with Splickler,” the Countess said to Christina. “Why, I was visiting my friend in the country.”

“You were staying all by yourself at the Platte Inn,” Lyon answered.

“You had me followed?”

“I knew you’d lied to Christina,” Lyon announced. “It’s a fact you don’t have any friends, Countess. I was immediately suspicious.”

“Then you’re the one who caused all the mishaps when I tried to return to London before the wedding. I would have stopped it. You knew that, didn’t you, you—”

“Get out of here,” Lyon commanded. “Say goodbye to your niece, Countess. You’re never going to see her again. I’ll see to it.”

“Lyon,” Christina whispered. She was about to soothe his anger. He gave her a gentle squeeze, however, and she assumed he didn’t want her interference.

Christina wished he wouldn’t get so upset on her behalf. It really wasn’t necessary. She understood her aunt far better than Lyon did. She knew how greed motivated her aunt’s every action.

“Christina, do you know you’ve married a cold-blooded murderer? Oh, yes,” the Countess sneered. “England knighted him for his cold-blooded—”

“Madam, hold your tongue,” Mr. Henderson said in a harsh whisper. “It was wartime,” he added, with a sympathetic look at Christina.

Christina could feel the rage in her husband. His hold on her was rigid. She tried to think of a way to calm him and rid them of their uninvited guests. She slipped her hand under his jacket and began to stroke his back, trying to tell him without words that the angry comments didn’t matter to her.

“Mr. Borton? Have you carried along the papers for me to sign?” she asked in a whisper.

“It is your husband who must sign the papers, my dear,” Mr. Henderson answered. “My lord? If you would only give us a few minutes of your time, the funds will be handed over to you without further delay.”

“Funds? What funds?” Lyon asked, shaking his head.

The Countess stomped on the floor. “Christina, if he doesn’t give me my money, I’ll make certain he never wants to touch you again. Yes, I’ll tell him everything. Do you understand me?”

Christina’s soothing strokes on Lyon’s back weren’t helping. She could feel his new fury. She gave him a squeeze.

Lyon had never harmed a woman, but he didn’t think it was an odious thought to murder the evil woman defaming his wife. He was aching to throw her out the door.

“Did this woman come with you or does she have her own carriage?” Lyon asked the two gentlemen.

“Her conveyance is out front,” Henderson answered with a nod.

Lyon turned back to the Countess. “If you aren’t out of here in exactly thirty seconds, I’m going to throw you out.”

“This isn’t over,” the Countess shouted at the Marquess. She glared at Christina. “No, this isn’t over,” she muttered again as she strode out the doorway.

Mr. Borton shut the door and sagged against the frame. Henderson poked at his collar. He held a satchel in his other hand. Suddenly he seemed to remember what his duty was, and he said, “Sir, I do apologize for rushing in on you this way, but the Countess was set on disrupting you.”

“Who in God’s name are you, man?” Lyon asked, his patience at an end.

“He is Mr. Henderson, Lyon, and the man holding up the door is Mr. Borton. They are my grandfather’s solicitors. Let us get this over and done with, please, Lyon? If you’ll take the gentlemen into the library, I shall fetch some soothing tea. My, it has been quite a morning, hasn’t it, husband?”

Lyon stared down at his wife with an incredulous look on
his face. She acted as though nothing upsetting had taken place. Then he decided her calm manner was deliberate. “Are you trying to placate me?” he asked.

“Soothing your temper,” Christina corrected. She smiled at her husband, then grimaced against the sting of her swelling skin.

Lyon noticed her discomfort. His grip tightened around her waist. She felt his anger again, had to sigh over it. “I shall go and make the tea now.”

It wasn’t as easy for Lyon to let go of his anger. He was abrupt when he motioned the men into his study, then took great pleasure in slamming the door shut behind him. “This had better be worth the interruption,” he told the men.

Christina deliberately took her time so that Lyon would hear the facts of her grandfather’s will before she interrupted.

She could tell, when Mr. Borton opened the door to her knock and took the tray from her, that the meeting hadn’t gone well. No, he was looking very nervous. Christina glanced over to look at her husband and immediately understood Borton’s worry. Lyon was scowling.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Christina? Damn, you have more money than I do.”

“And that displeases you?” she asked. She poured the tea, handed him the first cup, then continued her task until the solicitors had both been served.

“I don’t believe your wife understood the exact amount left to her by her grandfather,” Mr. Henderson said.

“Is it important, Lyon? It all belongs to you now, doesn’t it? That is what you said earlier, Mr. Borton,” Christina said. “Of course, we must make an allowance for Aunt Patricia. It must be substantial, too.”

Lyon leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Do you really think I’m going to provide for that … that …”

“She cannot help what she is,” Christina interjected. “She’s old, Lyon, and for that reason alone we must provide for her. It isn’t necessary that you like her.”

Christina smiled at their visitors. “At first I believed that
my aunt could come and live with us, but I see that wouldn’t work. No, she would never get along with Lyon. Of course, if my husband doesn’t agree to finance her, then I suppose she’ll have to stay with us.”

He knew exactly what she was doing. A slow smile pushed his frown away. His gentle little wife had a pure heart, and a mind worthy of a diplomat. She was manipulating him now, hinting at the ridiculous possibility that the Countess would have to live with them if he didn’t provide for her.

At that moment though, with her smiling so innocently at him, he decided he didn’t want to deny her anything.

“Henderson, if you’ve the stomach for it, I would like to put you and Borton in charge of the Countess’s account. Let me know what is needed to keep Christina’s aunt content enough to leave us alone.”

While Christina patiently waited, the details were worked out. She then saw the gentlemen out the door and hurried back into the library.

“Thank you, husband, for being so understanding,” she said as she walked over to stand beside him.

Lyon pulled her down into his lap. “You knew damn well I’d do anything to keep that old bat away from you. God’s truth, I’d even quit the country if I had to.”

“Thank you for not calling my aunt an old bat in front of our guests,” Christina said.

“I was about to,” Lyon answered, grinning. “You knew that, of course. It’s the reason you interrupted me, wasn’t it?”

Christina wrapped her arms around Lyon’s neck. “Yes,” she whispered. She leaned forward to nuzzle the base of his throat. “You are such a shrewd man.”

Lyon’s hand rested on her thigh. His other hand was busy pulling the ribbon out of her hair. “Christina, what weapon does the Countess hold over you?”

The softly spoken question caught her unprepared. “I don’t understand your meaning, Lyon. My aunt doesn’t have any weapons.”

“Christina, I saw the fear in your eyes when the Countess said she’d tell me everything. What did she mean?”

He felt the sudden tension in her, knew then she understood exactly what the threat was. “You’re going to have to tell me the truth, Christina. I can’t protect you unless I know whatever secrets there are.”

“I don’t want to talk about it now, Lyon,” she announced. She started to nibble on her husband’s ear, hoping to distract him. “We are newly married, after all, and I’d rather be kissing you.”

He told himself he wouldn’t let her waylay his topic, tried to ignore the surge of desire hardening his loins when Christina moved against his arousal, but when she boldly whispered into his ear how much she wanted him to touch her he decided to give in to her demand before asking her any more questions.

His mouth had never felt as wonderful to Christina. The fear of his rejection when he learned all her secrets made her feel almost desperate to take and to give as much as she could now, before the truth was turned against her.

His kiss was magical, soon robbing her of all her frightening thoughts. Yes, it was magic, for Lyon made her feel so desirable, so loved.

The kiss exploded into raw passion. His breathing was harsh when he pulled away from her. “Let’s go back upstairs,” he rasped.

“Why?”

“Because I want to make love to you,” Lyon answered, trying to smile over her innocent question. He was literally shaking with his need for her.

“I want to make love to you, too,” Christina whispered between fervent kisses along his jaw. “Do we have to go back upstairs? I don’t want to wait that long.”

His laughter confused her until he lifted her off his lap and started undressing her. Then she decided he was pleased by her idea.

They came together in wild abandon, fell to the floor in one fluid motion.

Christina was stretched out on top of Lyon, her legs tangled with his. Her hair fell to the floor, on the sides of Lyon’s profile, acting as a shield against the outside world.

She was content to stare into her husband’s eyes for a long moment, to savor the anticipation of the splendor only he could give her. Lyon’s hands stroked shivers down her spine. The heat of his arousal warmed her belly, and the hairs on his chest tickled her nipples into hardening.

“I’m shameless, for I can’t seem to get enough of you,” she whispered.

Lyon cupped her soft, rounded bottom in his hands. “I wouldn’t want you any other way,” he told her. “Kiss me, wife. Christina, all you have to do is look at me and I start throbbing.”

Christina kissed his chin while she slowly, deliberately rubbed her breasts and her thighs against him.

He groaned with pleasure. His hands moved to the back of her head. He forced her mouth upward to seal it with his own. His tongue plunged hungrily inside to taste again the intoxicating sweetness she offered him.

Christina was more impatient than he was. She moved to straddle him, then slowly lowered herself until he was completely inside her. She leaned back, tossing her hair over her shoulder in an utterly wanton motion. Lyon pulled his legs up until his knees pressed against her smooth back. His hands fell to cup the sides of her hips. “Don’t let me hurt you,” he ground out. “Slow down, love. I won’t be able to stop.”

He quit his protests when he felt her tighten around him, knew she was about to find her own release. His hand slid into the silky triangle of curls nestled against him. His fingers stroked her there until the fire consumed her and she turned into liquid gold in his arms.

He spilled his seed into her with a harsh groan of blissful surrender, then pulled her down to cover his chest, to hold her close, to share the rapture.

It had never been this good. It kept getting better, too, Lyon realized when his mind could form a logical thought again. “You’re a wild tigress,” he whispered to Christina in a voice that sounded thoroughly satisfied.

Christina propped her chin on her hands and stared down at her husband. “No, I am your lioness,” she whispered.

He didn’t dare laugh. Christina had sounded so terribly serious, as if what she’d just told him was of high importance. He nodded, giving her his agreement while his fingers combed through the tumble of luxuriant curls covering her back. He lifted and then rearranged the strands in an absentminded fashion as he stared into his wife’s magnificent blue eyes.

“Do you know, when you look at me like that I immediately lose my concentration,” he told her.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Christina announced. She leaned down to kiss him again. “You feel so good inside me,” she whispered against his mouth. “And now you must give me the soft words, Lyon.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant by soft words, but she looked serious again. She’d stacked her hands under her chin and was staring down at him with an expectant look on her face.

“What are soft words, Christina? Tell me and I’ll give them to you.”

“You must tell me what is inside your heart,” she instructed.

“Ah,” Lyon drawled. His eyes took on a tender look when he added, “I love you, Christina.”

“And?”

“And what?” Lyon asked, exasperated. “Christina, I never thought I’d be able to love again. And to actually get married … you’ve made me change all my old ways. I do not tell you I love you on a whim, Christina.”

“But I already know you love me,” Christina answered. “I didn’t want you to, but I do admit it still pleases me. Now you must praise me, Lyon. It’s the way it’s done.”

“I don’t understand,” Lyon said. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he added with a wink. He looked around the room and saw the chaos their hastily discarded clothing had made. The fact that he was stretched out on the carpet in his library with his uninhibited wife draped over him, trying to have a logical conversation, vastly amused him. “Do you think you’re always going to be so shameless, my sweet?”