Betina Krahn (40 page)

Holding the offending piece up in the dim light, he studied the thick canvas ducking, inch-wide stays, and heavy-duty grommets, and gave a low whistle. “This thing is built like a Turkish prison.”

He thunked one of the stays with his finger and gave her a wondering look—just before he carried it over to the window, opened it, and dropped it out.

“Hey! That is an expensive corset.”

“It was a damned torture rack. Spanish inquisitors used lighter machines to force confessions out of heretics.” He settled a hot-eyed smile on her and strolled back to join her on the couch. “I’ll go with you to St. Crispin and help you and support you, on the condition that you never, ever put on one of those things again.”

She blushed, and as she was pulling her gown back up onto her shoulders, he grabbed the neckline of her bodice and held it for the ransom of her agreement.

“Promise me,” he demanded, his eyes like glowing coals.

“I promise,” she said breathlessly.

He pulled her into his arms and she finally got the kiss she wanted. It was long and liquid and lingering, the kind
that made her toes curl and her breasts tingle and her skin come alive with a hunger for sensation. When his kisses began to drift, she abandoned herself to their tantalizing explorations, drinking the pleasure into her bruised but healing heart. And when he made her squirm with his naughty tweaks and delicious nibbles, she laughed and decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Wriggling her knees under her and sitting up beside him, she reached for his silky tie and stiff collar. Then, as he protested, she jumped up, carried them to the open window and dropped them out. Settling half on his lap, she attacked his vest and even the studs of his shirt. Soon his neck and chest lay bare beneath her hungry gaze.

“Ohhh, Madeline,” he groaned as she nibbled her way across his chest. “Is that any way for an angel to behave?”

“Wait—I’m losing something—” As they mounted the stairs, she had to pause to gather her skirts and loosed petticoats together in her arms. Soon she was so bundled and bound, she could scarcely walk, and yet she was in imminent danger of losing her bodice and bustle frame at any minute. She looked up at him with eyes wide in the dimness. “I’m falling apart!”

“Women!” He scooped her up in his arms and carried her the rest of the way.

There was just enough moonlight coming through the windows at the base of the domed ceiling to allow them to navigate. Once upstairs, they could see by the light coming from two open bedroom doors down the hallway.

By the time he reached the guest bedroom, he was panting and laughing at the same time and she was in grave danger of being dropped right on her drooping bustle. He lowered her legs and she turned just enough to slide down his body. Releasing her petticoats to put her arms around him, she realized they hadn’t fallen and looked
down at the ball of muslin, silk, and velvet trapped between them.

“You do seem to have a problem with your clothing, Miss Duncan,” he said, kissing her nose and stepping back enough to let the balled-up skirt fall. To her dismay, he continued back another step. “Let ‘Nanny’ give you a few lessons in fashion, my dear,” he said in a crotchety voice, shaking a finger. “Firstly … a woman as lovely as you should never wear light-colored satins.” He reached for the skirt of her dress and began to pull it up over her head. “The fabric will always turn pink, don’t you know.”

“Pink?” She laughed, suffering his ministrations.

“From blushing. Satins are vain, child. They can’t bear to be outdone.” He grinned and his voice returned briefly to normal. “Especially by a woman’s skin.”

She shivered with expectation and watched him throw her skirt aside. “Anything else?” Suddenly he was “Nanny” again, crackly voice and all.

“And these low-cut gowns … a medical hazard, you know.”

“They cause … pneumonia?” she said as he dragged her bodice down her arms.

“Eyestrain,” he announced. “For all the gentlemen ogling you. Better stay away from them.” She laughed, feeling a familiar tension rising between them.

“You’re awfully knowledgeable about these things, Nanny. I had no idea.”

He stared at her petticoats and shook his head. “Too many layers. They should really warn young women against this.” He began to peel them off one at a time. “Traps the heat against their bottoms … makes them think unhealthy thoughts.”

“I can see how ‘hot bottoms’ might be a serious problem with young women.” She laughed softly, watching him strip her clothes, delighted by his impersonation.

“And this thing …” He strolled around, considering her,
and gave her bustle frame a swat. Then he abruptly lifted it up to look under it. “As I thought.” He began pulling it from her. “Bustles are for females without enough padding on their bones. You, my dear, have
plenty
of padding.”

“Plenty of—” She gave him a shove and walked away with her nose in the air. He gave chase and caught her near the window, in a shaft of moonlight. “Padding?” she said indignantly. “I have plenty of padding?”

He pulled her hard against him and laughed. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, you know.” He slid his hands down her back and cupped her buttocks. “I happen to like your padding. In fact, I like it very much.” He gave her a brief, heated kiss, then released her and stepped back to scrutinize her.

“Hmmm.”
Nanny
was back, shaking her head with a “tsk.” “These old-fashioned unmentionables, they’re apt to cause chafing.” His eyes widened. “And chafing leads to redness and redness leads to sores … and sores lead to infections and infections lead to gangrene … and gangrene is nearly always fatal.” He began tugging frantically at her long, ruffled drawers. “Get out of those bags at once, child—before you die of gangrene!”

She laughed so hard, he had to do all the work. And when he reached for her chemise, she let him slide it down her arms without the slightest demur.

“Ahhh, much better,” he said in his regular voice.

There she stood in the moonlight, naked, bathed in gold and silver, precious … but, oh, so warm to the touch. Self-conscious, she wrapped her arms over her breasts, and he smiled, catching her gaze in his and then catching her warmth in his heart.

“That’s the way I’ll always see you,” he said, his voice suddenly low and full. “Dressed only in the beauty your Maker gave you. My lovely, loving Madeline. My own personal angel. Rescuer of my heart.”

Suddenly the playfulness was gone, and deeper, fuller passion
took its place. He picked her up and carried her to the bed. When he hesitated at the edge, she grabbed his sleeve and pulled him down beside her. He braced on one elbow, searching her face and stroking the hair from her temples.

“Stay,” she said softly.

He closed his eyes. “There won’t be any turning back, angel.”

“There’s already no turning back, Cole. I can’t just decide suddenly to stop loving you.” She saw the impact of her words when he opened his eyes. They were full of powerful new emotions that lent fresh heat to their autumn fires.

“I do love you, Cole.”

His mouth poured over hers softly, exploring every nuance of every contour and every movement she made. The sensations strengthened with all the urgency of a feather falling … unhurried, inevitable … deepening the pleasure of his mouth on hers by slow, maddening degrees. He opened her lips with his and plundered her with tender, expert strokes that made her bones go soft and her blood catch fire. When he raised his head, she had difficulty focusing her eyes.

“You’re an extraordinary woman, Madeline Duncan,” he said, bracing above her on his elbows. “You’re bright and loving and beautiful and strong and generous. In a more perfect world you’d be matched with a man who was just as strong and bright and generous and loving as you are. But we both know now that the world is far from perfect. And, for once, that works in my favor.” He smiled smugly. “Instead of Mr. Perfect, you’ve somehow been matched up with me.

“You may be asking yourself, what do I get out of this wretched bargain? A very good question indeed.” His voice lowered and thickened. “You get a man who may be a bit opinionated, stubborn, and arrogant but who is also bright enough to actually have ideas on things, has enough character to stick by the things he feels strongly about, and is confident enough to speak his mind honestly—no having to guess what he’s thinking.” His mouth canted into a soft, compelling half-smile.
“I have money and some property and I’m not at all tightfisted. And best of all: I can make you see stars or rainbows or Chinese fireworks or lightning bolts—whatever it is you see when the earth quakes and falls away beneath you—every night for the rest of your life.”

She stared at him, tracing his features, delving into the depths of his opening heart, feeling a oneness with him that awed her.

“Not a bad bargain,” she said, her eyes glistening, her chest aching softly. Then she grinned, returning to the pleasure of his body against hers. “Especially that last part … about the Chinese fireworks.” She grabbed the open collar of his shirt in determined fists and parted it forcefully. “Now, get out of those awful clothes, Nanny, and come and teach me more. There are a few things I’ve just been dying to learn.”

He stripped his clothes eagerly, flinging the shirt thither and the trousers yon. When he rejoined her on the bed, she laughed and pulled his head down to join their mouths. The tingling eddied from her mouth down through her throat and chest, and soon her entire body was alive with hunger and anticipation. As their kisses deepened, he slid his chest over hers and traced her sides with feathery strokes that made her squirm and giggle.

They took turns touching, exploring, and caressing each other. He learned about the bends of her elbows and the backs of her knees. She found the spot on his back that made him shiver and shudder with pleasure. He discovered the pressure and rhythm required to bring the tips of her breasts to taut, burning points, then how to control the flames with the wet heat of his mouth. She traced the lines of his back and the curve of his buttocks, then explored the male parts of him and discovered the power in a simple touch.

They dallied and stroked and teased until he found himself atop her, his legs entwined with hers, his body molding, reshaping hers with its heat. He nudged her knees apart and slid between her legs, fitting himself tightly against her most
sensitive flesh. She welcomed him, knowing that this was both what she had craved and what she had promised. He joined their bodies by slow, tantalizing increments, giving her time to adjust, reassuring her, enjoying her sense of wonder and discovery. And when, at last, he lay embedded deep inside her, feeling her untried body holding him in a tight caress, he clasped her to him and poured the depths of his soul into her eyes.

“I love you, Maddy Duncan. I don’t know if I always have. I know only that I always will.”

She looked up at his beautiful angular face and knew it was true. Nothing else could make a man like him do the things he had done.

“I do love you, Cole Mandeville.” She cradled his face in her hands and urged it down to give him a lingering kiss. And when it ended she demanded to know: “Now what about those rainbows and Chinese rockets you promised me?”

He laughed and kissed her, and soon her passions were simmering, rising, and expanding. Then, when her senses could hold no more, they burst in a shattering climax and suddenly there
were
colors everywhere—fiery golds and reds and yellows that slowly cooled to rich, textured purples and blues and greens. The colors stirred to a second surge of brilliance as he took his pleasure in a long, arching movement that stopped her heart, then filled it with tenderness and pride.

As they drifted to sleep, still joined and reveling in the delicious intimacy, she heard what she thought must be humming. It took her a minute to put words to that familiar tune.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul …

And she smiled.

The next morning Madeline awakened to a sun-warmed chamber and the sight of Cole, clad in shirt, trousers, and coat, propped on one elbow beside her. She stretched extravagantly,
feeling a new confidence inhabiting every inch of her body.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”

“Yes, it is a good morning.” She lifted her chin to collect a kiss, then glanced at his clothes. “A wonderful morning. What are you doing dressed?”

He laughed. “Only one night and already you’re a flaming hedonist. I shall have to see that ‘Nanny’ has another talk with you, young lady.”

“Oh, good.” She gave a sensuous wriggle. “Every time we talk, I seem to learn quite a bit. She really is a very wise old girl.” He chuckled and rolled from the bed.

“So wise, in fact, that she rousted me at the crack of dawn and sent me down to Regent Street.” On the table were several packages wrapped in brown paper. “She was afraid you’d cause a stir wearing only her favorite clothes, so she sent me out to find some that won’t … give you gangrene.”

“Cole, how thoughtful!” Her eyes lighted and she scrambled from the bed, bringing the sheet with her. Tearing into the packages, she found a delicately embroidered white blouse, a softly gored blue skirt, a simple cotton petticoat, stockings, and a pair of French-heeled pumps. “They’re wonderful!” She looked up at him. “How did you know what to get?”