Perilous Pleasures (18 page)

As her fingers stroked him, he sighed with pleasure. The flesh of his nipple hardened. Hers did, too.

He reached his other arm around her and nuzzled her gently as he pressed her against his muscular chest. “It feels so good to hold you. I can barely control myself. You don't have to slap my hand away to drive me wild.”

She let her hand trail downward from his nipple, over the muscular ridges of his chest. His skin there was so smooth. The corresponding parts of her own body awakened as she stroked him, as if one network of nerves connected them. Her exploring fingers drifted lower, past his chest, until she met something with no counterpart in her body—the long, silken hairs that grew in a sleek line down the center to his belly.

She teased them with her fingers, wondering at the texture of the hair, and the springy resistance it made to her touch. His stomach was so flat and hard. As her fingers encountered the curling wisps of hair, she wondered if they were the same reddish gold as the tuft that curled so bewitchingly at his throat.

It was only when she came to the barrier of his breeches and fumbled uncertainly with the edge that she felt him tense, but still he didn't stop her. He let out a long, drawn-out breath, and then reached over and quietly unbuttoned the buttons, allowing the front flap to fall open. Drawn inexorably downward, her fingers followed the soft fur farther, more hesitantly now, knowing what it would lead to.

As her fingers tangled in the thickening tuft, she made her hand veer away from the central line of his body, fearing what might happen were she to tease his rod, which already jutted against his drawers. She remembered how quickly he'd responded that night in the inn—and how quickly she'd felt overwhelmed. She wasn't ready for that, not yet, much as she wanted to be. So she contented herself with running her fingertips over the hard bones of his hip and his squared-off flank, delaying.

Then, as if reading her mind, he took her exploring hand in his and stopped its advance. “There's no need to rush,” he said. “We have a lifetime together.”

He brought his lips down on hers and kissed her as if he wanted to pour himself into her. At his touch, her lips melted into his. A golden light poured through her center, reaching her very heart, as she tingled with the need his lips ignited in her. Joy pulsed through her body as his lips danced with hers. His tongue, so giving and yet so firm, taught her a new kind of pleasure as she hovered on the brink of bliss.

She knew only him—the smell of his hair, like flowers, and the scent of his skin, sharp and tangy, which called her to nestle more closely against him. Their kiss dissolved into a sobbing breath as he finally released her, and she heard herself gasp.

“It's you who have enslaved
me
,” she said softly. “I shall die if you don't kiss me that way again.”

“Then I must kiss you.” His russet lashes dropped over his steel gray eyes. “I am vowed to save life, not to end it.” He brought his lips down on hers, filling her with bliss and intolerable longing. His hand stroked her ruined cheek, but even that didn't mar her joy.

S
he was all he'd ever wanted, more beautiful than dawn. The sweet taste of her was so perfect, he felt himself spiraling into complete abandon, wanting nothing more than to learn at last what it felt like to lose himself in the fullness of the comfort she offered.

But deep within, a voice broke through the madness that gripped him.
Would you trick her once again? And this time beyond any remedy?

His hand froze. What had he let himself drift into, disarmed by her light tone and the unexpected flirtatiousness that had engulfed them both?

His animal nature, now fully roused, battled against the voice of conscience. His prick throbbed with wanting of her. She was his wife. It was permitted. Why shouldn't he thrust himself into her welcoming softness and be done with it? Not only was it permitted, it was required. The Dark Lord himself had commanded it.

But he'd already let the Dark Lord's command lead him to do things he'd known were wrong. He'd already violated Zoe's spirit with the spell. He mustn't take her body until she understood, as she could not now, what it would really mean.

He stroked her face, gently, one last time. Then drawing on the last of his strength that had not been consumed by desire, he pulled away from her, breathing hard.

When he opened his eyes he was amazed to realize that they were both still partly clothed. She must have had the same realization for as he released her she reached for the hem of her shift, as if preparing to pull it up over her head and discard it.

He clamped one hand on her wrist to stop her. “No. Not now.”

She shrank away as if slapped. “It was my face, wasn't it? Why did you have to touch it? That ruined everything!” There was anguish in her voice.

He felt her pain as if it had been his own, and understood, too late, what caused it. “That wasn't why I stopped,” he protested. “I love your face, because
you
live inside it. Didn't my kiss teach you how beautiful I find you?” He stroked her cheek again as gently as he could. “I find you
too
beautiful. It's taking all I have to rein in my longing to possess you.”

She lifted his hand away. “If that's true, why must you deny it? Must the Dark Lord's heir still be chaste?”

He shook his head, no. “It isn't that.”

“It's Charlotte then. Because my mother killed her.”

His insides clenched at the old familiar pain, but that hadn't been the reason, so he must not hide behind it. He must tell her the truth. “It's not that, either.”

Though, in a way, it
was
Charlotte who kept them apart—and would until he found the courage to tell Zoe about the curse. Yet the very comfort and content he'd felt in her arms just now made it impossible for him to do it. How could he? When she knew the truth, she would leave him. He'd be alone once more—far more alone even than he'd ever been during all the long years of exile. For in her arms, he'd tasted a hint of what it would be like to not be solitary and accursed, and that taste would make it so much more painful to go back to being that way again. He couldn't face a lifetime without her. He couldn't bring himself to ruin everything by telling her the truth.

So he only said, “MacAlpin awaits me. I promised I'd tour the estate with him this morning, so I have to go and meet with him now, no matter how much I might wish I could stay here with you.”

And with that he jumped up and left her aching and alone in her virginal bridal bed.

Chapter 13

I
t tormented Adam to know how much he'd hurt his bride. But it terrified him, too, that he'd almost taken her just now, carried away by passion, forgetting what it would mean to consummate their union. He couldn't trust that he would be strong enough to pull away should the same situation arise again.

If only his Pisces nature didn't make him take everything so seriously. A man born under a happier sign might have taken the easy way—and let the flirtatious mood they'd established lead them to their tryst's logical conclusion, hoping for the best. But his father had hoped for the best, and look how
that
ended. Though it had torn his heart to have had to injure Zoe by leaving her so abruptly, he was glad he'd had the strength to do what was right. But he'd only done part of it. He must finish the job.

Though that hadn't been why he'd left her, he had been telling the truth when he'd said he was supposed to meet with the bailiff, so he dressed and headed out to see MacAlpin. Of course, as he'd known it would, the route to the bailiff's offices led him past the one room he hadn't revisited since his return home. His sister's room.

Last night, he hadn't found the courage to enter it. He dreaded entering it now. But as he paused before her door, he knew he must confront what awaited him within if he were ever to fight his way out of the impasse to which he'd brought his marriage. The latch gave way easily at his touch. Only the creak of the rusty hinges gave testimony to how long it had been since anyone had entered the chamber. Once inside, he saw that nothing had changed since his sister had left it for the last time, when she'd gone to join him in Morlaix. His eyes took in her bed with its high sides, the shelf that held her books, and her crutch. He made himself look at them all, refusing to look away.

But whatever he'd expected to meet when he'd steeled himself to enter her chamber, it wasn't here. He felt a strange mixture of relief and disappointment. Though she'd left her things behind, his sister was gone. It was only his need to reach her once more that had made him think he might find her here.

He wouldn't. If he were ever to meet her again it would only be in his dreams, not here, where the poor husk that had constrained her soul had been confined. He stood quietly at the center of her room, surrounded by her things, taking deep breaths to slow his rapid pulse.

And then it struck him: he hadn't dreamed of his sister—not once—since Zoe had come to his bed that night at the inn. That was strange enough, but even stranger was the fact that he hadn't been aware of Charlotte's absence. How could he not have noticed that her ghost no longer came to him, silent and reproving, to remind him that he hadn't yet avenged her?

As he breathed in the musty scent of the room that had been Charlotte's prison, an unexpected sense of peace settled on his heart. Could he have done the right thing, after all, in making Zoe his wife?

He yearned for it to be true, but there was no way to be certain. If only he knew why the Dark Lord had chosen Zoe to be his bride. But his teacher was as dead as his sister, and neither of them would ever answer him again, plead with them though he might.

A tiny sound put him on the alert. A mouse scurried across the top of the chest that had held his sister's few treasures. He took an involuntary step toward it and stopped when he saw what lay trapped in the crack between the chest and the wall. It was his sister's knife, the folding penknife he'd given her, which she'd treasured so. It must have slipped off the top of the chest, and of course once that had happened she wouldn't have been able to get anyone to retrieve it for her. But finding it now, he felt as if she'd left it there for him.

A thrill ran through him. The knife held so many memories. It had been given to him for his birthday when he'd turned ten, a sign that he was no longer a child but a man who could be trusted to not carve his initials in the furniture. He'd thrilled with pride. But, of course, it had been Charlotte's birthday, too, so after he was done admiring his prize, he'd gone to show it to her, wondering what treasure she'd received.

But she'd been given nothing. He shouldn't have been surprised. The rest of them always did what they could to ignore her. But their neglect ruined his pleasure in his knife, and his sister's attempt to rejoice with him over it had only made it worse.

Late that evening, when Auld Annie had dozed off by the fire, he'd sneaked into Charlotte's chamber and given her his precious knife as his birthday present to her. She'd tried to refuse it. After all, she'd never be able to use it. But he'd insisted she keep it. He wanted her to have the things a normal child would have, and he'd known even then that he would be the only one who would ever give them to her.

Now, she had given it back, a gift more precious than his had been. He took a book from the shelf and used its cover to pry the knife from the crack where it was lodged. When it was out, he picked it up with a shaking hand. The blade opened as smoothly as if it were new. Its edge, unused, was still sharp. He slipped it into his pocket.

His sister
had
come in answer to his summons, after all. And as if his sister had whispered the words to him, he knew what it was she wanted him to do with her precious gift.

Z
oe told herself that Adam
had
been telling the truth when he'd left her so abruptly to keep his appointment with his bailiff. She must remember that he was the master of this vast estate with all the responsibilities it represented. But she couldn't fully believe it, for she'd felt the strong emotion that had swept over him, right before he'd withdrawn from her so abruptly.

Something had spooked him. There was no reason for him to depart so hastily. The bailiff would have waited had the lord of Strathrimmon stayed on to dally with his newly wedded wife in her chamber. Something else had made him wrench himself out of her arms and flee as if pursued by furies. Though whether it was her ugliness or her parentage, she couldn't say. He'd denied that either was to blame, but he'd had a hard time disguising his horror at how close they had come to consummating their marriage.
Something
had appalled him.

There was no point in dwelling on it. She supposed she should be grateful that he
hadn't
taken her body without love. That might even show some greatness of spirit on his part. His body had certainly wanted hers. So perhaps he was telling the truth when he'd said it wasn't her ugliness that had driven him away.

But if that was true, it must have been her parentage. Strong as his lust had been, it hadn't been enough to make him betray the sister to whom he'd given his lifelong loyalty. That he was capable of such loyalty made Zoe love him more. If only that same loyalty of his hadn't made it impossible for him to love her. She was tiring of paradoxes.

The sounds of the busy household outside her door reminded her that her husband wasn't the only one who had responsibilities to their dependents. She shouldn't be lying here sniveling about love when she was supposed to be meeting with the housekeeper to learn more about her new domain. As long as Adam honored her with the role of wife, she must fill it as best she could, and give him no reason to regret that he'd elevated her to so high a station.

She was almost done dressing when she heard a noise at her door. Before she could tell whoever it was to go away, the door opened a crack, and her husband's aged nurse hobbled into the room.

“I've brought ye something, to fend off the evil of the curse.” Auld Annie held out a branch of some shriveled herb. “Though little help it may be to ye.”

“I didn't ask you for help,” Zoe snapped. “Nor do I recall inviting you into my chamber.” The woman hadn't even knocked.

Auld Annie made that strange gesture with her hand again, and her eyes hardened.

“Aye, but ye
will
have need for my help, and soon, I ween, for he's young and healthy, our Adam, and cannae keep his hands off o' ye. But ye're but a young lassie and ken not what ye do. So I take no offense. Auld Annie will aid ye when ye need her, as she did yer husband's puir mither.” Then, before Zoe could reply, the old woman turned on her heel and made her way out of the chamber.

Yes, clearly it was time to take on the role her husband had thrust on her. The servants had become far too bold in their master's absence. If she tolerated such behavior from one, soon they would all be taking such liberties. She'd seen her pupils act in much the same way when a new teacher had been introduced to Mrs. Endicott's school.

After dressing, she made her way down the wide staircase bordered in heavy oaken paneling that led down to the main hall, where she found Mrs. MacAlpin awaiting her at the foot of the stairs. The housekeeper stood primly, her posture suggesting she felt aggrieved at having had to wait for her slugabed mistress. Her mouth was set in a grim smile.

It
would
pose a challenge to grasp the reins of her new household. But Zoe welcomed it. It would give her something to do besides mooning over her husband like a besotted schoolgirl. But as she took in the housekeeper's tightly pressed lips and the way her fingers curled possessively around the large bunch of keys at her waist, she knew that she must go about it carefully. She needed to make her an ally, not an enemy.

“I expect you'll be wanting the keys, Yer Ladyship.” The older woman made a great show of unfastening the heavy bundle of iron keys that hung from her belt.

Zoe considered taking them and dismissing the woman. She was the mistress here and wanted there to be no mistake about it. But the unvoiced resentment that radiated from every inch of Mrs. MacAlpin's wiry body reminded her of that of the girls who'd been sent to Mrs. Endicott's school against their will. She'd learned when handling them that, if she didn't make an issue of it, their resentment often abated on its own, after she'd allowed them some time to adjust to their new situation. It was understandable that Mrs. MacAlpin might fear being uprooted by the sudden appearance of the upstart who had come to take her place.

So Zoe favored her with a gracious smile. “You may keep the keys for now. I'll need your help, if I'm to do as good a job of managing the household as you've done in His Lordship's absence.”

The older woman gave her a searching look. “I only did my job, Yer Ladyship.” Though her voice was gruff, she looked pleased. It was comforting to learn that, as unprepared as Zoe might feel to become the mistress of so grand an establishment, her years of dealing with the many clashing female personalities to be found in a ladies' academy had taught her much that might come in useful in managing her husband's estate.

“Now I should like you to show me through my new home. There's so much I'll need to know about it that only another woman would fully understand.”

Mollified, the housekeeper spent the next hour leading her through the principal rooms and sharing many valuable insights. Though Mrs. MacAlpin, like most of her countrymen, was not given to idle chatter, she'd spent most of her life at Strathrimmon and was deeply devoted not only to the family but to the manor itself. As she got over her shock at having a new mistress, she began to see the advantages of making her new mistress an ally in bringing the house back to its earlier splendor.

The housekeeper proudly showed off the Sevres porcelain urns displayed in the niches set in the walls of the main saloon, before pointing out where the Turkey carpet that covered its floor was in need of repair. She recounted who had shot the stags whose heads adorned the walls of the billiard room, and noted which chimney smoked, and what windows needed caulking. In the long gallery, she identified the various Lord Ramsays whose paintings graced the walls, and then ventured the suggestion that it was time that His Lordship's own visage should join them there.

“Is there a portrait here of his sister?” Zoe asked.

The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Nae, nae. That would hardly be proper.” Then she quickly changed the subject, lamenting the depredations that woodworm had wrought on the carved ceilings that were the hall's principal ornament.

As they passed through a small withdrawing room, fitted out in a style that would have been the height of fashion thirty years before, Zoe noticed a door that led to what appeared to be a glassed-in conservatory. Her heart lifted. A conservatory would make it possible to rear some choice plants despite the short growing season.

But when they entered it, Zoe's hopes were dashed. The conservatory had been badly neglected. Panes of glass were missing, others were broken, and the stove that should have warmed it looked as if it had never been completely assembled.

“It appears the Dowager Lady Ramsay wasn't given to gardening,” Zoe said.

“On the contrary, she was quite fond of it, before her marriage. His Lordship's father, Lord Ramsay that was, made this glass room for his new bride, especially to please her. And he'd ha' done far more for her after that, for he had many a plan for grand improvements. But when he learned that she was to bear him twins, that was the end of it. There was nae point in going on, once he knew the Ramsay curse had struck again.”

Mrs. MacAlpin said the last words in a tone that suggested that a curse striking was something all landowners must expect, like a bad harvest or an early frost. She added, “Next thing we knew, he'd gone off to the Continent alone, and he died there soon after, poor mannie, before the bairns were born. There was no talk of improvements after that.”

“But surely when Lady Ramsay knew she was to bear twins, she must have wished to make a new nursery for her children?”

The housekeeper gave her a hard look. “After the bairns were born, Lady Ramsay had nae stomach for anything to do with them. Not with them so clearly touched with the curse's mark.” She pursed her lips. “Auld Annie was given the care of them, the same as had been the old Lord Ramsay's nurse. She held that what was good enough for the babes' father in his nursery days must be good enough for them. And of course it was. Ye find nae fault with your husband, now do ye, my lady? Auld Annie knew her job and did it well.”