A Little More Scandal (7 page)

Twelve

William carried her through the front door and up the wide staircase toward his bedroom, just as he’d carried her through the Duchess of Marsden’s ballroom. There would be no stemming the tide of talk now. What had been a business concern was now a matter of honor—as if laying her back against his desk hadn’t been damning enough. That memory only reminded him of how little honor he possessed. Susannah had realized to her horror what sort of man she married, while Georgette . . .

No matter his physical strength, he could not stand tall against those memories. At the top of the stairs, he touched Catrin’s feet to the ground and led her into his bedroom, where he lit a single taper. She balanced against the closed door. In her eyes blazed the promise of lovers’ secrets and sighs. Deeper still, he saw the promise of two futures coming together. William didn’t dare believe himself worthy; he simply wanted to be the protection she craved.

But he could not do that if there stood the possibility of breaking her heart.

The servants were abed. He could do with Catrin what he wanted. The rush of power he always got from being so strong, so intimidating, never came. He was left feeling childish and nauseated by how callous he had become.

Heat sizzled from his neck to his cheekbones. When had he last felt embarrassment? Those few incidents blazed like lightning strikes among his memories. He was ashamed of the night when making love to Susannah had brought about her suggestion that he take a mistress, should he wish to continue rutting like a stag. He was ashamed of leaving Georgette, having known that offering for her would’ve ensured social and financial suicide.

And he was heartily ashamed that he hadn’t seen his son in three months.

He’d brought that loss on himself.

Catrin was a painful woman to know. So direct, so vital, her very spirit prevented him from denying his selfishness and fear. He would forever consider himself a coward if he refused her a place in his life.

“You owe me a secret, William.”

He drew her away from the door. “I do.”

“Help me, first.” She began to unfasten the buttons and ties that kept her clothed. “Close that beautiful mouth, William. I’m in earnest.”

Captain of industry? Hardly. He was hers to command.

When the gown fell to the floor, Catrin stepped clear of puddled muslin. With a few more deft movements, she stood wearing only her drawers and shift. She unpinned sunny brown hair, which fell as gleaming strands to frame her face. Soft candlelight cast deep, tormenting shadows between her small breasts. Her stomach was a gentle hollow. The hint of a dark triangle between her legs quickened William’s breath.

As if she belonged there, she opened the bed curtains and pulled back the quilt. The scared young woman who’d cried and clung to him in the carriage was gone now. Pain and fear might always haunt her, but for the evening, it had been purged.

For all her boldness, the smile she tossed over her shoulder was brief, shy, hopeful.

Did she carry some hesitation that he would not follow her to bed? Perhaps. He’d handled her generosity and openness so poorly.

He would not begin this conversation by disappointing her. And bloody hell, he wasn’t making love to her again—not until he honored his promise. They might still be able to escape this dalliance.

Yet from her downy refuge, Catrin smiled just this side of impish. “What do you wear to bed?”

“Nothing.”

“Then don’t let me interfere with your usual routine.”

He stood at the edge of a mighty cliff, dizzy, wanting, and more petrified than a man could ever admit. She watched with avid interest as he shed his clothing. Slowly. At least his body knew how to proceed, rising to meet the warm flesh that awaited him beneath that quilt. His mind, however, remained a boiled muddle.

Once naked, he stood beside the bed. Catrin’s eyes were wide and greedy. She reached out and gently stroked two fingertips up his thigh, to the muscles of his stomach. William closed his eyes against a hard jolt of pleasure.

He had a confession to make. Time to get on with this torture.

After blowing out the candle, he slipped into soft darkness. Catrin didn’t hesitate. She draped her lithe body over his. Breasts and hips and legs—so suddenly, his hands were filled with silken warmth.

He touched his forehead to hers. Swathed in the black of midnight, so intimate, he finally was able to speak the impossible.

“I am not a good man,” he rasped. “If given the opportunity before knowing you better, I would have traded your story for its influence. That’s how I see the world. Buy and sell. Trade people. Exchange morals. Anything to keep climbing away from . . . from where I was born.”

“But you have limits. I’m proof.”

“You speak with so much certainty.” He kissed her, amazed she could think so well of him. “Nothing has changed regarding what I need from Mr. Lymon, and I
will
accomplish my aims. Susannah knew that much. Two years of living with my hunger for success was enough to embitter her. She cared more about this house than me, and rightfully so. I fled to Paris when she died. Even I couldn’t live with myself, no matter the detached nature of our marriage.”

Catrin began to stroke him. All of him. She was learning him by touch. Cool, nimble fingers dusted from collarbone to bicep, before skipping across his hip. She held onto his forearm, gave a little squeeze.

“You were saying? About Paris?”

He shut his eyes. So selfish. So greedy. He could not refuse her touch, nor the light kisses she feathered across his face—near enough to absolution for a sinner like him.

“I met a dancer named Georgette.” He kept his hands still. Motionless. Her curves rested beneath his palms, but he would not take her. “She was exactly what I needed at the time. Uninhibited. Amenable. But how could I contemplate marriage to a French Catholic? An occasional prostitute? She gave me the comfort I needed, until I awoke one morning and returned to England. Christ, I left her behind like a shameful thought.”

Her deep inhale pressed against his chest. “I’m sorry you were in pain, and that you caused her pain. You can do better than that. You
are
better than that. Every mistake can be rectified—if not to this woman in particular, then perhaps to others like her. There is more in life to be achieved than accumulating money and power.” Catrin hugged with all the might her tiny, fierce body could muster. “Make her memory an inspiration for all the good you can do.”

“Catrin, don’t do this.”

He used his body to pin her against the mattress. The position was dangerous. He was so close to climbing atop this vibrant woman and binding their futures.

“I took you once,” he said harshly. “But you can still escape unscathed. I have money enough to ensure it.”

Her hands renewed their exploration. “My lover of choice would provide my dowry to marry another? That sounds torturous to us both.”

William was hard now. Breathing in a husky rhythm. It would take so little to part her legs.

Why now? Why at this moment had his conscience decided to become so bloody stubborn?

Because she deserves it.

“I’m in earnest, Catrin. Marrying me means marrying a man whose mistress will always be industry, trade, the accumulation of wealth.”

She pinched his arse. “You will
not
take a mistress.”

“Damn, woman!”

“Don’t expect I’ll meekly drink tea while you conquer the world. By rights, what you have will be mine to share. That includes your work.”

But then her movements calmed. Her hypnotic Welsh accent swirled around through his senses. “William, I know you’ll never be an open man. You’re simply not the type. But here?” She took his face in her hands. “Here, you’ll try. For me. I will be your safe place, just as you’ll be for me. Begin here. Now.”

He collapsed against her bosom. Warm cotton teased him with her scent. He was hungry, needy, and defeated by her unflagging optimism.

“I didn’t leave my son with his grandparents because I value how they’ll acclimate him to Society.” His whispered confession was easier now. Darkness. Catrin’s scent. Her gentle patter of kisses. They conspired to unlock the vault in his chest. “He’s there because I’m terrified. What does a gutter rat from Glasgow know about
family
? How does a father guide a boy to manhood? And Jesus, any children we might have . . . ?”

They both stilled. Neither breathed.

He whispered against her skin, “Will you teach me how, Catrin? Will you help me raise my boy?”

She brought him up for a slow kiss. “Yes, my love. If we can figure our way out of this mess, we can do anything.”

“Do you trust this?
Us?
”

“I trust that I love you.”

“How?”

“Have you ever made a business decision based on gut instinct? Facts and figures aside—you just had to choose?”

“Yes.”

“Then choose to love me.”

And just that easily, he knew.

William wrapped her in his arms, clung to her. “My darling Catrin, I already do.”

The distress he’d felt began to seep away. Desire and a dizzying hopefulness rushed in to take its place. The breath he’d been holding pushed free on a long exhale. His next inhale was filled with the sweet bliss of her scent.

No longer able to resist the lure of her body, William reveled in the resilient curve of her hip, the supple strength of her legs, the pulse of life just beneath her skin. Kisses. He rained kisses from her mouth to her throat, then farther still. The strings at the neck of her chemise slipped loose.

That almost innocent beginning took on a hard, desperate edge. Hot breath mingled. He traced her lower lip until she opened for him. The throb of his cock was a mind-numbing distraction now. He ground it against her hip and took her moan into his chest. Each nudge became more aggressive. He tunneled his hands into her hair.

Eager lips found a bare stretch of muscle across the top of his chest. Tiny nibbles, little licks—Catrin was a miniature explorer. She skimmed her hands down his flanks, around to his backside. Clasped tightly.

William slid his hand between her legs and circled tense fingers between her slick folds. She moaned, then tightened her hold on the globes of his ass. She was so wet, so ready. And bloody hell, so was he. The entire evening had been a prelude to this moment.

“Legs around my waist.” Power heated his blood when she quickly complied. He positioned his aching head against her opening. “Tell me you’re ready, Catrin. Please.”

She tightened her calves, her thighs. “Have been for hours,” she gasped.

With a growl of amusement and need, he plunged deep. No boundaries now. No hesitation. Fast, hard, he indulged in the woman he loved—the woman who held nothing back. She reveled in his driving hips, as each thrust pitched her moans higher and higher.

“No hand on your mouth. Not tonight.” Bracing his weight on his elbows, William smiled in the dark. “Never again, Catrin. Give me your screams.”

They rode one another with abandon. They were a wildfire across a summer-dry moor. She thrashed her head against the pillow until he caught her jaw. Claimed a kiss. Plunged his tongue with a firm, swift stroke that matched his cock. He clenched his eyes shut against the release that built and built. But he wanted Catrin’s release more.

She crisscrossed her forearms behind his neck, panting, arching, meeting his hips with such strength and need. “Now. Yes . . . Oh—!”

Her cries and breathless shrieks stabbed deep into his mind. He’d given his woman what she needed. He would continue to do so for the rest of their lives.

William gave over to his grinding need. His thrusts shook the mattress ropes and banged the curtain posts against the wall. Catrin clung to him and whispered dark endearments, until he tensed, shuddered, and groaned her name. Pleasure fired behind his eyes and burst free of his straining body.

As they lay together, still gasping, Catrin began to giggle. She scraped her fingers up his back as that beautiful, carefree laughter bubbled out. William rolled onto his back, pulling her with him. Her breathe huffed against his chest.

Only when she sobered on a long, contented sigh did he stroke tangled hair from her cheek. “Will you marry me, Miss Jones?”

“Yes, Mr. Christie.”

“Because negotiations were completed to your satisfaction?”

“Very much so.” She levered up, found the tip of his nose, and kissed it. “Now, on to other plans.”

His mind was sludge, but hers was as vibrant as ever. “Other plans?”

“Mr. Lymon won’t need the story of my shipwreck if he has the exclusive on our titillating night together. And access to the wedding.”

She curled her fingers into the muscles that pebbled down his sides. A ticklish place made him twitch and laugh. “Do
not
do that again.”

But she did anyway. Of course she did. He let the laughter overwhelm him, holding her close.

“After that,” she said, a little breathless, “we’ll feed him tidbits of news about the most scandalous couple in the
ton
, how we buy our way into parties, make love in carriages, and mock our betters.”

“We sound absolutely filthy.”

“Don’t we, though? People will lap it up.”

“Can you live with such talk? Each day?”

“Yes. You’ll be with me.” He felt her smile against his cheek. “Besides, I’ve always wanted to see America. One day we might do with a change of scenery. Little Alex, too. Your iron ore company is based in New York, yes?”

“How in the world did you know that?”

“If it’s a matter of public record and it’s about you, I know it.”

“Devious,” he said. “You’re completely devious. Although, to be fair, you know much more about me than what can be found in the public record.”

“I’m a lucky woman for it.”

“No, my darling. I’m the lucky one.” William found her hip, her waist, then her chin. He rubbed his thumb along her lower lip. “But my beautiful Miss Jones? There’s something you should know.”

“More?”

“You’ll like this one,” he said, his voice intimately low. “I want to see you bathed in light when next I take you.”