Reese's Bride (13 page)

The sympathy she was feeling changed to something else as Reese turned his back to her and shoved down his drawers. If she had expected him to sleep in his undergarments, she should have known better. Instead he stood gloriously naked, his back smooth and broad, his buttocks narrow and tight. When he turned, she gasped at the heavy erection rising up against his flat belly. Interest mingled with an electrifying awareness she never thought to feel, and as he strode toward her, sinfully aroused, it occurred to her the price he was paying to keep his word.

Her gaze remained fixed on the hard length of his shaft, a sight she had never seen before. Edmund had come to her in the darkness, taken his pleasure, then left her.

“You are staring, Elizabeth. And you are making me harder than I am already.”

Elizabeth looked up at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice the color in her cheeks. “I’ve never seen a man’s…private parts.”

His features tightened. She thought it betrayed an even greater dislike of Edmund.

“Since that is the case, then perhaps we are beginning exactly as we should.” Naked and unembarrassed, Reese stopped beside the bed, allowing her to look her fill. She had the strangest urge to touch him, see if his heavy member was really as hard as it looked.

Embarrassment kept her hand where it was. She moved over a little as he settled himself on the mattress and drew the covers up over his chest.

“Come here,” he said softly.

When she made no move to join him, he reached for her, slid an arm beneath her waist and dragged her solidly against him. She could feel the heat of his body, the solid ridges of muscle meshing with her own soft curves. Accidentally, she brushed his arousal and Reese hissed in a breath.

“Go to sleep, Beth,” he said gruffly, tucking her against his side.

The name washed over her, bringing a fresh flood of memories. How could she have forgotten how good it had been between them? How had she ever been convinced to marry any other man?

But she had, and once he knew the truth about his son, Reese would demand penance for what she had done.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, certain she wouldn’t be able to sleep. But the warmth of Reese’s body seeped into her weary bones, along with an unexpected feeling of security, and in minutes she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

She slumbered soundly for a while, but during the night her pleasant dreams turned into nightmares of Reese and Jared. Elizabeth began to toss and turn, her mind filled with thoughts of the grim, uncertain future that lay ahead of her.

N
ight sounds began to creep in, a dog barking somewhere down the lane, the hoot of an owl in the rafters above the stable, crickets chirping in the grass around the perimeter of the inn. Reese had barely slept and now lay awake, listening to Elizabeth’s deep breathing.

It was impossible to sleep with his beautiful bride nestled in his arms and his body on fire for her. During the past long hours, he had replayed his first glimpse of her curvaceous, womanly body, the full, rose-tipped breasts and the sweet roundness of her bottom. Her legs were shapely, her feet small and her ankles trim.

God, he had never seen a more desirable creature. And he had not mistaken her passionate nature. Her innocent responses set his blood on fire. Still, her encounters with Aldridge had clearly been unpleasant. The bloody fool had used her with no thought to her pleasure.

She turned on the mattress and soft black curls teased his shoulder. Beneath the sheets, his erection stirred to life. Dammit to bloody hell, he’d been hard as granite most of the night.

He rolled away from her and closed his eyes, exhausted and hoping for at least an hour or two of sleep. When that time had passed and he still lay awake, he slid to the edge of the bed. His leg was always a little stiff in the mornings. Forcing his muscles to move, he stifled a groan, bent and straightened his knee several times, loosening the joints and sinews, then dressed quietly and left the room.

A bit of breakfast would improve his mood, he was sure, and after a hearty plate of sausage and eggs, discovered that it actually had.

It was time to rouse Elizabeth. Reese found himself looking forward to waking his bride with a kiss.

Unfortunately, when he climbed the stairs and opened the door, Elizabeth was already out of bed preparing to dress, standing naked in the middle of the room. She looked tousled and delectable and his arousal returned for what seemed the hundredth time.

“Reese!” Coloring with embarrassment, she rushed to the dresser and scooped up her blue silk wrapper.

The edge of his mouth faintly curved. “It’s all right, I saw you naked last night, remember?”

Her blush deepened as she turned her lovely backside in his direction and hurried to put on the robe. Reese frowned at the scar near her elbow he hadn’t seen in the faint glow of lamplight the night before.

“What happened to your arm?”

She drew the robe together and tied the sash, then turned to face him. Unconsciously, she rubbed the place where the jagged five-inch line cut into her flesh.

“I broke it. The bone pushed through the skin.” She glanced away, but not before he caught the flash of memory in her eyes, a look he had seen before.

“How did it happen?” he pressed, afraid to hear the answer.

“I fell. I hit the edge of the dresser when I went down.”

“You fell.”

She lifted her chin. “That’s right.”

“Aldridge is dead. I’m your husband, Elizabeth, and I want the truth. Did that bastard break your arm?”

Her lovely gray eyes brightened with a sheen of tears. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Yes or no.”

She glanced away. “Yes.”

Reese’s jaw hardened. “What about the boy? Did he mistreat his son, as well?”

“Edmund never…never struck Jared.”

“Just you, then. He only hurt you.” Fighting down his anger, he strode toward her, gently drew her into his arms. “If Aldridge wasn’t dead already, I swear I’d kill him myself.”

Instead of pushing him away as Reese feared she might, Elizabeth turned into his embrace. “I hated him,” she said softly. “I never want to think of him again.”

Reese’s hold tightened. For God’s sake, no wonder she was afraid of him. He pressed a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re safe now, Elizabeth, and no one is ever going to hurt you again.”

She looked up at him and he could read the turbulence in her expression, the uncertainty. There was something more, he could tell. He wished he knew what it was.

“It’s getting late,” she said, moving out of his arms. “I need to dress so that we can leave.”

Reese just nodded. “I’ll send Gilda in to help you.” Grabbing his silver-headed cane, he left the room, silently
raging at Aldridge all the way downstairs. Elizabeth no longer had anything to fear from the earl.

It was the earl’s brother, Mason, who threatened her now.

Reese silently cursed.

Mason Holloway stood in the long gallery at Aldridge Park, staring at a wall of gilt-framed portraits of his ancestors. His brother Edmund’s picture was the most recent addition, hanging next to a family portrait that included Mason’s father and mother, Edmund, and himself.

“We have to do something.” Frances sat across from him in a carved wooden chair at a small round table draped with a fringed, red-velvet cloth. “We can’t just sit here and let that woman ruin our lives.”

Mason shook his head. “I can’t believe she married him. It’s been little more than a year since Edmund died and already she is sleeping in another man’s bed.”

Mason had heard about the hurried nuptials that had taken place at Briarwood Manor. After the failed attempt against Elizabeth that would have taken care of the problem caused by her sudden departure, Reese Dewar had posted guards around his property. But money had a way of breaching barriers, and one of the kitchen maids had been more than willing to report any unusual activity in the house.

In time, Mason was sure, another opportunity would arise. Once Elizabeth was out of the way and Mason and Frances became Jared’s legal guardians, Edmund’s fortune would fall rightfully into their hands.

Mason swore foully. He hadn’t expected Elizabeth would go so far as to marry Dewar in order to thwart him.

“If things had gone as we’d planned,” Frances said, voicing his earlier thoughts, “Elizabeth wouldn’t be a problem. She would be upstairs in her room, grieving the death of her husband as she should be.”

“And we would be in control, as my brother would have wanted.” He still couldn’t believe Edmund had married the chit, a decision he had regretted within months after the wedding.

But Edmund was infertile, or so he believed, having suffered a severe case of measles as a child, which their parents alleged was the cause. The girl, Edmund had confessed to Mason, had come to him pregnant, which gave him the chance for an heir. Unfortunately, the young woman had proved a disappointment in bed and the child had been nothing at all like Edmund.

His dislike of them both had grown, along with his regret. He had intended to change his will, leave all of his unentailed properties and the bulk of his fortune to Mason. They had spoken of the matter often, but Edmund was a young man, still, and his death had been completely unexpected.

A night of heavy drinking and a misstep on the terrace had led to a broken neck. The future had arrived in an instant and Edmund had not been prepared.

“Perhaps it isn’t too late,” Mason said. “Until the adoption is final, we can still set the matter to rights.”

Frances made a sound in her throat. She was a thin, pale woman, not the least attractive, and yet he had never regretted marrying her. She was intelligent and cunning, and she understood his male needs. If he wanted a woman, his wife merely looked the other way.

“Even if the girl was dead,” she pointed out, “Dewar would likely seek custody of the boy, and his brother
is
a duke. As the lad’s stepfather, there is a good chance he might win guardianship of Jared.”

Mason ground his jaw. Frances had always been astute. And ruthless in getting what she wanted. It was a quality he admired and one of the reasons he had married her. “So what do you suggest?”

“I say we go to London. According to your informant, Elizabeth is staying at Holiday House. We can take up residence in Edmund’s town house—at least your brother provided for that.”

Edmund’s will, unchanged before his death, provided at least some comfort. Mason had a respectable annual income and life estates in apartments in each of his brother’s numerous properties.

Still, Edmund had intended they inherit far more.

Mason intended to see that they got what they deserved.

“Once we are in the city,” Frances went on, “we’ll set a man to watch them. Sooner or later, the opportunity we’re seeking will arise.”

One of his thick brown eyebrows went up. “You aren’t saying…”

“I am saying what we both know is the truth. The boy isn’t even Edmund’s son. You should have been earl, not some other man’s by-blow.”

Edmund had never revealed the name of Jared’s real father and Mason didn’t care. The law was the law and Jared had inherited. There was no evidence of his true parentage and Edmund was married to the boy’s mother at the time of his birth. Frances, as usual, was correct.

Edmund had utterly regretted that the son who wasn’t even his and was so completely unlike him would one day inherit the earldom, but it was too late.

Mason stroked the ends of his mustache. Though he hated the notion of disposing of a child so young, perhaps he would simply be righting an injustice.

Mason walked over to the table and took hold of his wife’s thin hand, urging her to her feet. “Pack your things, Frannie. We are leaving for the city.”

Frances looked up at him and her narrow face broke into a smile.

The streets of London glistened from an early morning rain. A damp mist hung in the air and the sky was a flat, leaden gray as Reese’s carriage rolled toward the town house occupied by his friend, Travis Greer.

Yesterday, Reese had settled his newly acquired family at Holiday House, Elizabeth’s luxurious residence near Hampstead Heath, which, as her husband, now belonged to him. He wasn’t quite certain how he felt about that, but since their future was linked together, he didn’t suppose it really mattered.

It was her safety that was important. Before he’d left for the city, an hour’s ride away, he had sent a letter to the investigator, Chase Morgan, updating him on events, including the attempt on Elizabeth’s life, his marriage, and their upcoming visit to London. He’d asked Morgan to hire enough men to secure the house and grounds twenty-four hours a day.

On their arrival at Holiday House, Reese discovered Morgan had done his usual efficient job. Six men were responsible for guarding the exterior of the house and grounds. Every visitor was checked as he arrived and two men stood watch inside the house.

Still Reese hated to leave. By now Mason Holloway
was certain to have discovered Elizabeth’s hasty marriage. Until Jared’s adoption was finalized, she was still in danger.

They both were.

With the wealth of an earldom at stake, Reese wasn’t nearly as convinced as Elizabeth that Mason would not harm the boy. But his friend’s needs were also important. He had to know what sort of trouble Travis was facing.

The carriage rolled to a stop at the side of the street and Reese climbed down with the unwelcome help of his cane. He intended that he and Timothy should continue working his injured leg at Holiday House, and Reese felt certain the limb would continue to improve.

The huge estate backed up to Hampstead Heath, which, with its hundreds of acres of rambling green hills, duck-filled ponds, and ancient woodlands, provided plenty of open space for riding. Since the house sported a nicely kept stable and a dozen saddle horses, he had sent Timothy back to retrieve his big black gelding, Warrior. It was past time he mounted a horse again, and though he might suffer a few cuts and bruises in the process, he was determined to ride once more.

Reese looked up at Travis’s town house, a three-story, white-trimmed brick building just off Berkley Square, a pricey neighborhood for an ex-military man. The location might have surprised him if he hadn’t known Travis had inherited a goodly sum of money on the death of his ballerina mother.

According to Travis—told to Reese on a night of hard drinking in a tavern in the Crimea near Varna—Katarina Markolov was descended from Russian royalty. As Reese followed his friend’s white-haired butler into an elegant
drawing room and surveyed the velvet curtains and rich ruby sofas, he smiled to think the story appeared to be true.

Travis arrived in the drawing room a few minutes after the butler departed. Sliding his small gold spectacles up on his nose, he closed the paneled doors behind him, making them private.

“Nice place,” Reese said, reaching out a hand Travis accepted. The empty left sleeve of his coat was a bitter reminder of what Travis had suffered because of him.

“The house belonged to my mother,” Trav explained. “I kept it leased while I was in the army. Once I knew I was coming back to London, my solicitor gave the tenants notice so I could move in.”

Reese glanced around, noting the slightly feminine décor that didn’t really suit the hard, fighting soldier he knew Travis Greer to be.

“I guess I should make some changes,” Trav said, raking back his sandy brown hair, reading Reese’s thoughts. “Then again, I may not be living here all that long.”

Reese squared his shoulders. “All right, I think it’s time you told tell me what’s going on.”

Travis nodded. “Would you like a brandy or something?”

“No, thanks.” Reese sat down on the ruby sofa and Travis took a chair across from him.

Travis blew out a breath. “It all started with the journal. You remember I was writing one when we were in the Crimea?”

“I remember.” An image arose of his friend sitting for hours with the leather-bound volume propped open in his lap as he penned his reflections on what was happening around them.

“When I was first released from the army,” Travis
continued, “I came back to London for a while. I interviewed for several newspaper jobs but didn’t get hired. Not until later, when I got the offer from the
Times
. At any rate, while I was here, I…Suffice it to say, the Countess of Sandhurst had certain charms I couldn’t resist. I knew better, of course, but…well…things just happened.”

“You’d been gone a damned long time. If the lady offered, it only seems logical you would accept.”

“I suppose so. Caroline’s husband mostly ignored her. She was looking for male companionship and I was in need of a woman. We saw each other for a while and on several occasions I mentioned the journal.”