Miss Carlyle's Curricle: Signet Regency Romance (InterMix) (19 page)

“What a pity Brisbane House does not have a dungeon,” he said, his grin growing wider.

“Why is that?”

“Because I would have had him chained up so that you could have thrown hot irons at him. Think how satisfying that would have been. Do you think your mother would have liked to have participated, as well?”

Diana laughed, for the image of her gentle and delicate mother savagely flinging hot irons at the villain was absurd. But she said, “I think she would have enjoyed it immensely,” and realized perhaps her mother would have.

“I see I have married into a family of very fierce women,” he said, and kissed her again.

“Do you mind?” she said, a little breathlessly.

“No,” he said. “I adore fierce women.” And kissed her again, gently, but she opened her mouth to him as he had asked her that time in the maze and the kiss turned deep.

It was a gloriously rich kiss, full and slow, and she could only move languidly, her arms sliding up around his neck and around his back. She felt his hands move down her shoulders to her waist, then to her hips, pulling her up hard against him.

Then, abruptly, he moved away from her. He gazed at her, an intense heat in his eyes, but he only stroked her cheek. “I think perhaps you might not be ready for this.”

At first she was bewildered, not sure what he meant, then remembered what her mother had told her regarding the marriage bed. “I do not know, either,” she said honestly. “But I shall not know if we do not try.”

He kissed her again, gently. “If you wish me to stop at any time, then tell me and I shall.” His smile was wry. “It’ll be damned difficult, but I shall stop. I won’t even look at you if you would prefer I do not.”

She thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “I will have to try not to be so afraid . . . and you have said you have not seen anything bad about me—yet.”

He chuckled. “I shall never see anything bad about you.” “Then I think I shall not mind it much if you look at me.” “Good,” he said, and kissed her again, and began unbuttoning her gown. He slipped his hand inside the bodice and then stopped. “What is this?”

She gazed at him uncertainly. The fire and candlelight illuminated surprise, not anger or disgust, and she let out a deep breath. “It is my bindings.” He looked at her questioningly. “When I don’t put them on, I receive too many looks, and so I have taken to putting them on most of the time.”

“Even when you sleep?” He looked incredulous. “They must be damned uncomfortable.”

“Not when I sleep.” She bit her lip, embarrassed. “Tonight I was afraid . . .”

“My dear, you need not be. I did say I would stop if you did not like what I do.”

She thought about this for a moment. She had resolved not to be cowardly, and so she would not. “I will take them off, then,” she said.

She sat up, and pulled down the top of her nightgown, blushing, for Gavin slowly sat up as well, watching her, the bedcovers dropping down about his hips. The candlelight burnished the lean, hard planes of his chest and the muscles of his arms, but he did not at all seem self-conscious about his bareness. She supposed such things were allowed between a husband and wife. She tugged at the knot at one side, then grimaced. “I am afraid I tied it too tightly.”

She thought he uttered a small groan, but he said, “Let me try.” His fingers fumbled with the knot, and his hands seemed oddly unsteady. “Devil take it,” he muttered, and moved off the bed. She quickly averted her eyes, but not before the firelight caught the long lean stretch of thigh and buttock. A glint caught her eyes, and she gasped.

A dagger. It was small and neat, and she gazed at him, wondering why he carried such a weapon. She watched him as he pulled at the knot, and quickly slit the fabric behind it. The two ends fell apart, and he tossed the knot aside, then tucked the knife somewhere to the side of the bed.

His eyes met hers, almost a challenge, and her questions died on her lips. She took the ends of the bindings in her hands instead, and began to unwind it from around her. A glance at his face made her hands shake; he was watching with a very odd expression, one she did not know how to interpret.

Finally she was done, and forced her hands to her sides, though they curled up into fists. She would
not
be a coward, and if Gavin despised her or was repulsed by her, then she would make herself bear it. She would even bind herself up again, and not mind being uncomfortable.

“Dear God in Heaven,” he whispered.

She could not stand it. “I am sorry,” she said, and hid her face in her hands. “I am sorry if I disgust you.”

“Disgust me?”

Was there a laugh in his voice? She brought her hands down, fists once again, and looked at him. “Don’t laugh at me,” she said angrily. “And . . . and you should not take God’s name in vain.” It was a ridiculous protest, considering the amount of vulgar cursing she had heard from him already, but she could think of nothing else to say.

This time he did laugh. “Madam, that was no curse, but a prayer of the most heartfelt thanksgiving.” His arms came around her and pulled her down to the bed, kissing her hotly. “I have been blessed,” he said, with each word trailing kisses from her throat to the tip of one breast. “Not only have I managed to marry the lady with whom I have fallen desperately in love, but she has the most magnificently endowed figure I could have ever imagined.” He kissed her lips again, and kissed another line from throat to her other breast. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said between each kiss.

She began to giggle, because the kisses tickled, and then she began to laugh because she felt suddenly free—and she was, of course, because she had not her bindings on, but she felt free inside, as if some binding on her heart was also gone. She could not stop giggling, for his hands went all over her and his fingers sliding over her breasts and belly and thighs tickled terribly.

Her laughter ceased, however, when he pulled her hand down upon him, and she looked at him wide-eyed. She bit her lip, wondering if it would be proper if she looked. Well, she had allowed him to look at her; she certainly should be allowed to look at him! Carefully she glanced downward.

“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I do not think that was a curse,” Gavin said, breathing deeply himself.

“No, it was not,” Diana said. “You see, I have seen how horses go about breeding, and I was afraid yours would be as large as a stallion’s. I am very thankful it is not, for I believe I would have a difficult time of it if it were.”

A choking sound came from him, and he suddenly buried his face between her breasts, his shoulders shaking. She pushed at him, and he rolled over, roaring with laughter.

“That’s a devilish thing to say to one’s bridegroom,” he said, gasping.

“Why? It is only the truth. I should not at all wish to be split in two, which I might well be if it were that large. It would hurt horribly, I imagine.” She leaned over him, slapping his chest with her hand. “What is so funny?”

“You, sweet one,” he said, and pulled her down to him, kissing her soundly. He sobered suddenly. “It might hurt, nevertheless.”

She wet her lips, feeling nervous. “I have been told so.”

“Only briefly,” he said, and she began to move to the side, but he grasped her hips tightly. “Stay as you are.” He closed his eyes and pressed himself up against her. His movement made her feel warm and languid, and then hot as his fingers ran along her waist to her breasts. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes.”

A strange sizzle coursed through her body, forcing her to moan and move upon him, making her breathe in gasps.

“God, Diana, this is heaven.” His voice was a harsh whisper, and he shifted under her and then a hard pressure moved between her thighs. Her eyes widened and a small protesting sound came from her throat as it moved into her, a stretching ache. “Sorry . . .” He took in a deep breath. “I will stop if you wish it—but please say you do
not
wish it.”

“I do not wish you to stop,” she said, and gingerly settled herself down upon him.

“Thank God,” he said. He groaned, and surged upward. Diana bit her lip, for it ached again, and then the ache faded as Gavin moved in her again and touched her where they joined. Fire burned there, and she clutched him tightly, and then a bubbling, a bursting, up through her belly and her breasts, forced a cry and a deep moan from her throat.

Rolling her under him, he pressed deep into her, again and again, his mouth upon hers, breathing her breath. She twisted under him, for the bursting came once more, making her clutch him tightly as his breath rasped harshly in his throat with one last thrust.

He sank down upon her, a groan leaving him. She sighed, feeling boneless and sluggish, and closed her eyes, only opening them again when he shifted their positions to their sides and kissed her mouth, cheek, and neck. He gazed at her, the wonder in his eyes making her feel light. Diana smiled. “How beautiful you are,” he said.

She shook her head and glanced away, not able to say anything and feeling suddenly shy.

He lifted her chin with his hand, making her look at him. He kissed her, then said, “I have been around the world, and have seen many women. But I have never seen one made of gold as you are.” He threaded his fingers through her hair and kissed a strand of it. “Golden hair, golden skin.” His hand curled under her breast. “Beautiful,” he said, and put his hands around her waist, then smoothed them over her hips. “Magnificent.”

She looked into his eyes, and the fire that had earlier coursed through her body seemed to linger in her heart. He gazed and gazed at her, as if he could not get enough of looking at her, and she found she did not mind it at all, and perhaps had not minded it for a long time. She reached up and kissed him, and his breath grew ragged.

“God, how I love you,” he said, pulling her close again. “Say you love me, Diana, even if you don’t mean it.”

She held his face between her hands, and gazed long into his eyes. “I do love you, Gavin, and I mean it,” she said, and knew, with the shattering of the walls around her heart, that it was true.

He looked at her, startled, shaking his head slightly. “I do,” she said. “I was too afraid to think it, but I am not afraid now.”

He gave a slight, incredulous laugh, and held her tightly, seeming unable to speak. He kissed her instead again, and the kisses became heated once more, and once more they loved until they could not move any longer, then finally, finally slept.

Chapter 13

Gavin Sinclair, Earl of Brisbane, gazed at his sleeping wife and regretted that he had been forced to marry her. He watched her even breathing, how her full and beautifully rounded breasts rose and fell, and grinned, remembering the night before. He could not regret that part of it. What he had told her was true: when she had turned and looked at him that day in the woods, rain-soaked and sobbing, he had fallen instantly in love with her. At first he had thought it was sheer lust; her wet clothes had clung to her, outlining a lush and voluptuous figure, and he had wanted her instantly. His fastidiousness had kept him from seeking whores in different ports, but it did not mean he had not any desire for women, and the desire did accumulate after a while.

But then she had turned and gazed at him with her curiously light eyes, wet with tears of grief, and her full lips had pressed tightly together in an attempt to control her emotions. Her spine had stiffened as if she had heard the summoning of a military drum . . . and he had, at that moment, fallen in love with her, body and soul.

He had resisted the idea, of course, especially when he had discovered who she was. But he had been forced into the role of earl, and as such, was responsible for those who lived upon his property and to those related to him. He grimaced. He supposed he could have had Diana and her mother leave Brisbane House, but the conditions of the late earl’s will made it clear that they would struggle with the amount of money the bequest gave them.

And the thought of not seeing her every day . . . even though he knew it was wise if he did not see her, he could not bring himself to suggest she go. It was a bad choice; once he had touched her, he could not keep his hands from her, and when she did not keep him from kissing her, he only wanted more.

Last night she said she loved him. He ran a finger along her cheek, wondering if it was true. He grimaced. He had been mad with lust and love combined, and had lost control of himself, wanting to hear the words from her.

And she had said them. If he had not asked, she might not have mentioned it. She was wary, like a wild fox, and watched him—and others, for that matter—carefully. She had cause to be wary. He gazed at her sleeping face and remembered the fear on it last night. At least that monster had not raped her; Gavin had seen the evidence of her virginity on the sheets this morning, though he had not been sure when he had entered her last night. But the man’s terrorizing of her and her mother had left its mark, and Diana was like a wild creature, fearing confinement of any sort, and yet hiding herself for fear of being trapped or found wanting.

His mind went over the recent deaths on his estates. A monster then, a monster now. Yes, she had much to be wary about.

But his wife was not totally helpless, thank God. She was, oddly, a practical woman, a woman who commanded respect. He had watched her fearlessly break a stallion, neatly dodging hooves and teeth, ordering grooms and stableboys about in her firm, husky voice. She brooked no disobedience, her stern gaze making even the most recalcitrant apologize on the instant, and her smiles of thanks to those who obeyed her were sweet. It was why he had her continue supervising the stables; it kept her occupied, and he doubted he could do as well as she. She had great power and strength in her character, though she seemed not to know it, and tried over-hard to have the strength she thought she did not have.

He knew the feeling well. He had been servant and slave, prisoner and drudge, and had escaped to claw his way out of poverty to eventually owning a ship of his own. He controlled more than a few business concerns, and he had in his hands the mortgages of more than a few prominent peers. Now he was a peer himself, and he found he liked it very well even though he was not used to it. And now that he had it, he would prefer not to have anyone take it from his control.

It was better than vengeance, the reason he had decided to accept the late Lord Brisbane’s offer of work. The inheritance came to him as a surprise, and it was one more clue as to why he might have been abducted and bundled off to sea when he was a youth, and showed him that Charles Carlyle had not been the one to do it, despite the vague memory of the Carlyle name at the time. He suspected that the person behind his abduction and the deaths of Lord Brisbane and the head groom were one and the same. How convenient it was that his own interests and that of the estate had dovetailed so neatly. Further, it seemed Vicar Southworthy knew something about his, Gavin’s, claim to the earldom, if his reaction at Sir James’s objection to his marriage was any indication. He would have to speak to him, soon.

And Sir James. He, really, had the best reason to wish the late Lord Brisbane out of the way, as well as Gavin. He was also older than Gavin by a decade, and would have been old enough to plan and carry out an abduction. He frowned. And yet, the man had no real financial reason to commit murder; Gavin had investigated his finances, and there was no evidence then or now that the man needed money. Sir James had indeed been very successful at the gaming tables, and did not seem to be the type to care for owning property in the country; he had more than enough to buy himself a tidy bit of land if he had wished. It did not quite fit.

And then, Diana. He had not wanted to marry her this soon, before he was completely certain of his own position. Ironic, that, for before he knew who she was, he had been quite determined that she would be his wife, and he usually got what he wanted, sooner or later.

He gazed at his wife, her face smooth and innocent in sleep, and wondered if she really was innocent. His gut clenched at the thought. Of all the people in Brisbane House, she had the best opportunity to plan and execute an accident for her uncle. She knew the stables well, and commanded the grooms and the stableboys. She was expert at driving the curricle—he had seen it himself. Of course she would make sure that the horses would not rear and buck when she was driving it.

No, she could not have done it. Everything she did showed a strong loyalty and affection for her uncle. Besides, if it were indeed true that Charles Carlyle had saved her and her mother, then she owed her life to him.

If it were true. Gavin almost groaned aloud. He must keep all possibilities in his mind, even if it meant his wife was a murderess. He had to realize his love for her could be clouding his mind, now, even as he gazed at her sleepily opening eyes, and returned her slow, sleepy smile. He had known that she was the other half of him the first time he had gazed into her eyes. But if she were indeed the other half of him, then she was just as capable of killing a man as he. It was surprising how easy it was to kill.

He had much work to do, many questions to ask. But now, now Diana held out her arms to him, and he could not help sinking into her softness and strength, and driving her to cries of passion and release as he buried himself in her gift of heat and oblivion.

Gavin rolled away at last, and began to rise from the bed, but Diana caught his arm. He turned to her, and saw she had paled.

“What is that? On your back?”

He hesitated, wondering how he would tell her—and if he would at all. “Old wounds,” he said, knowing his answer would not suffice. He shrugged, as if they were inconsequential.

“And severe,” she said, gazing at him sternly as if he were a recalcitrant stableboy. “You will tell me how you got them. I said I would tell you of my life if you told me of yours last night, and as you see, I have not forgotten it. And this time”—her lips turned up for a moment—“I will hold you down until you do.”

“Breakfast first, and then I will tell you,” he said beginning to move away from her in the hopes that he could distract her. “After all our activity—”

His breath left him suddenly as Diana leaped and pushed him down to the pillows, her hair flying about her fiercely determined face. She sat on him, her hands on his shoulders holding him down as she stared at him with icy blue eyes.

“You
shall
tell me,” she said in a low voice. “
Now.
” An almost savage smile formed on her face, and she bent toward him until her lips almost touched his. “I will not be put off, not any longer.” She pressed her mouth hard against his, her hair coming down around him like feathers against his flesh, her breasts pressing into his chest. He groaned, desiring her again, and grasped her hips.

But she twisted away, still holding his shoulders. “No. You will tell me first,” she said, though her face flushed and her eyes grew heavy with want.

He gazed at her, her chin thrust forward stubbornly, and her eyes staring with determination into his, and began to laugh. A formidable woman, indeed. “Witch,” he said, and put his hand behind her head to take a kiss. “Very well.”

She grinned her triumph, but was careful not to shift all of her body away from him, and settled her chin on her hands that were clasped on his chest. He gazed at her for a moment, thinking of how he might tell her about the wounds he had received. He sighed. Where else but the beginning? It could not hurt, he thought, to tell her how he had gotten them, if he was prudent about it.

“When I was about sixteen, I awoke one day to find myself bound and gagged upon Mr. Goldworthy’s ship, my stomach churning with each pitch of the waves, my head pounding with pain, and my back burning as if I had been seared with a dozen brands.”

He saw her face pale, and her throat move in a swallow. “Oh heavens,” she whispered. “Not . . . not . . .”

“Hush, love,” he said, smoothing back a strand of hair that had fallen across her face. “Do you want to hear this?” She nodded, and he continued. “I did not know why I was there, or why I had been treated so,” he said. “Indeed, when Ned Goldworthy found me, I thought he had been the one who had done it.”

But he had not, and the man who had become his friend had been as horrified as any good man might. The merchant had cleaned him and cared for him, giving him whatever remedies he had at hand to heal his wounds and rid him of the ensuing fever. At last Gavin had become well, but they could not turn back. Mr. Goldworthy’s ship was bound to Spain with supplies, and had to be there soon. Eventually, he came back to England, but it was the long way about, for Bonaparte had lined his forces against England at Boulogne at the time, and it was a tricky thing to get past the French tyrant’s eye with a goods-laden ship.

Gavin paused, looping a strand of Diana’s hair around his finger, remembering those days. He had found it at once exciting and terrifying, and was often half groggy trying to suppress the occasional seasickness he’d get. But throughout it all, he had had one thought, and that was to return to England and have his revenge against whoever it was that had beaten him almost senseless. No, not almost senseless . . .

“Surely, that is not it?” Diana’s voice pierced his thoughts, and he gazed at her, wondering how much more he should tell her.

“That is all,” he said at last.

“You must know who did this to you!” Her eyes showed horror and grief for the youth he had been.

“No, I do not know,” he blurted. “I don’t remember.” He mentally cursed himself; he did not mean to tell her that much. But he had told no one except for Ned Goldworthy; now that he had begun, it threatened to burst from him, all of it.

She frowned. “Surely you must remember such a horrible thing! I can remember far beyond the age of fifteen—indeed, I believe my earliest memories were perhaps three years of age.”

“No, I do not,” he said again, and shrugged. “The blow to my head, the fever—I do not know which one robbed me of my memory of it.” He gazed at her horrified face and his anger rose again, hard and cold. “You see, you should not have married me.” His anger wanted to push her away from him. “I have no memory of being Gavin Sinclair before the age of fifteen—I am certainly the nobody Sir James claimed I am,” he said bitterly.

“Oh, Gavin!” she cried, and kissed him, holding him tight. She looked up at him again, her lips pressed tightly together for a moment. “I think we should build a dungeon. Then when we find who did this to you, we shall chain him up and fling hot irons at him.”

He laughed, and kissed her again, her form against him an unfamiliar comfort. It was odd how he had searched for comfort and ease, and now that he had it, he felt somehow that he could not quite settle into it. He was used to hard work and sacrifice, not a soft bed and a soft woman.

A rumbling came from beside him, and he grinned to see Diana blush and press her hand over her stomach.

“Yes, I agree, it is past time for our breakfast,” he said, and easily moved from beneath her. He rose and pulled the bell rope, giving a side glance at Diana as he did so. She was watching him, discontent flickering over her face, as if he were some strange new animal and as if she were puzzling over what to do with him. He smiled slightly. It would be interesting to see what she would conclude. “Come now, you will need to dress yourself before our breakfast arrives; I dislike the idea of anyone else seeing as much of you as I do now.” He sighed to see how her blush spread to her breasts as she pulled on her discarded nightgown, and sybaritic images of food and womanly flesh flickered through his mind.

He made himself turn away and draw on his robe. Later, he thought, smiling widely. He had his riches and his comforts, and even a title now, and he would not give them up.

His smile faded. Indeed, once he had hold of a thing, he never could let go. He would find out who had abducted him, and somehow retrieve his memories.

He watched his wife open the connecting door and go through to her own room. Yes, it was unfortunate that he had married Diana. For whoever had abducted him had no doubt killed the last Lord Brisbane, and if it was because of the inheritance, then Gavin Sinclair would be the next to die.