In any case, the sun was starting to set. The gray daylight gently fading, giving way to the shadows that were beginning to shroud the room. It was much too late to call for a carriage. Tomorrow, if James still looked on her with hard eyes, then she would leave.
But that would mean seeing him, and she was certain she could not bear the disgust again. Just the possibility of it made her flinch.
He hadn’t been cruel. Hadn’t physically hurt her. He hadn’t made a promise he had not kept. He had merely pointed out a fact. And with it had reminded her, lest she ever forget, of just what she had allowed herself to become.
She tugged the coverlet tighter around her shoulders. The worst of it, though? Timothy’s concern had not been misplaced. Not his concern about her safety with James, but his concern for her. The disgust wouldn’t hurt so much if she had kept that step back from him. Left the distance there and her heart well hidden. Looked on him like she had all the others—as a necessary means to an end and nothing more.
Instead she’d fooled herself into believing she could keep their holiday in perspective. Hell, she’d even conjured up excuses, laying enough doubt to explain his initial reticence, until it had become palatable enough for her to blithely brush aside.
From the start, he had been different. So different from all the rest that the defenses built over the years had been completely worthless. As solid as a thin wisp of air.
Damning herself for a fool wouldn’t right the situation, though. Nothing would short of leaving tomorrow. But . . .
An ache flared swiftly across her chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. She squeezed her eyes closed tight, fought with all her might. The effort sapped the last of her strength, and before she knew it, the gentle tap of the rain on the windows coaxed her to give in and just let sleep overtake her.
A whisper-light touch roused her. Before she opened her eyes, she knew it was James smoothing her hair from her face. No one touched her as he did, tender and light, asking rather than taking. She took a moment to savor his touch, to soak it up, her heart pounding in her chest, begging for more. Then she reluctantly opened her eyes.
The room was near dark. Only the firelight cut through the deep twilight shadows, illuminating James’s silhouette perched on the side of the bed. “Will you dine with me tonight?”
Uncertain yet unable to refuse, she nodded.
Cool air hit her, instantly seeping through the thin silk, as he drew back the coverlet. Strong arms wrapped around her, gathering her close, to effortlessly lift her. Arms draped about his neck, she rested her cheek against his shoulder and snuggled closer to him, seeking his warmth. He was toeing open the door he’d left cracked when it occurred to her.
Stiffening in his arms, she lifted her head. “Wait, I need to dress.”
“It’s not necessary.”
The door swung open and she squinted against the light in the corridor. “One doesn’t sit at a dining table clad only in a silk wrapper.”
“Relax,” he murmured. “We’re not going downstairs.”
True to his word, he only traveled the short distance across the corridor, kicking his bedroom door shut behind him.
A two-arm candelabrum was centered on a small round table draped with a white tablecloth before the fireplace. Silver covers were over the dishes of the two place settings, one with a wineglass and the other with an ivory cup and saucer. The curtains were drawn tight, keeping the warmth from the fire within. Mrs. Webb must have been in to tidy the room, for the navy coverlet on the bed held not one wrinkle.
He set her gently on her feet and pulled out one of the armchairs that earlier today had been stationed about the room. Gesturing to the chair, he tipped his head. “For you, my dear.”
At the endearment, she glanced up to his face, searching for a clue. But his expression was shuttered, unreadable.
She took a moment to adjust the fabric belt about her waist and right the neckline of her wrapper. Then with a demure “Thank you” she sat down.
He took the covers off the dishes, revealing pork tenderloin with broiled potatoes, and placed them on the mantel beside a bottle of wine, and then grabbed the bottle. His hand shook the slightest bit, just enough so the stream of rich Bordeaux wavered as he filled her glass. After seeing to his own cup from the pot he had also taken off the mantel, he took his place across from her.
“I hope the fare is to your liking.” Shoulders and back stiff, he didn’t at all resemble the man she had dined with last night.
“It smells delicious, and I’m certain it is. Mrs. Webb has shown herself to be a wonderful cook.”
“She doesn’t cook,” he said, as he placed the linen napkin on his lap. “Mr. Webb tends to the kitchen. She tends to the rest of the house.”
That might explain why Rose hadn’t seen the man since her arrival yesterday. Had that been only a day ago? It seemed much longer.
Following James’s cue, she started to eat. She had only taken two bites when he set down his knife and fork and speared her with a solemn stare that caused tension to grip her spine.
“I should not have spoken to you thus this afternoon, after . . .” His gaze dropped to his plate, his chest visibly expanding on a deep breath. Then olive green eyes met hers again. “It was unconscionable to have said such a thing. It was cruel and you have every reason to think poorly of me. I certainly do.”
Was he apologizing for speaking the truth? Her jaw dropped. The absolute last thing she had expected from him tonight. But she should have. James was the most honorable man she had ever met. Good and kind to the core.
“Please, I beg your forgiveness, Rose. Will you accept my apology?”
Her heart slamming against her ribs, she could only nod.
“I . . .” A furrow tightened his brow, his voice dropping to a grave rumble. “It’s hard sometimes knowing I won’t ever be your first anything. But I won’t let it come between us anymore. You have my word.”
How she wished he could have been her first everything. The first man who touched her, kissed her, made love to her. Her first and only. But none of the others mattered. None had even come close to leaving their mark on her heart. “You’re the first man I have ever wanted to be with,” she confessed.
The tight line of his mouth softened. The gravity left his eyes, the green depths warming with an emotion she should not dare to give name to. “Thank you,” he whispered, almost awed, as though she had presented him with the rarest of treasures.
Beyond words, the most she could manage was a half smile. She reached across the small table, covered his hand with hers, needing his touch. He turned his wrist, captured her fingers, and held on to her. The moment stretched on, the silence absolute and perfect.
Then the logs in the hearth shifted, breaking the spell.
“Shall we finish dinner before it gets cold?” he asked.
She nodded, relinquishing her hold on him, for now at least. And when dinner was completed, he was there at her shoulder. He didn’t even let her get to her feet, but gathered her in his strong arms and carried her to his bed.
Fifteen
CRISP
and bright, the late-morning sun streamed through the windows of the dining room, a welcome change from gray skies and rain. A powerful lure James decided not to resist. He’d spent enough hours behind his desk yesterday. No need to repeat the task, especially when he was on holiday and had Rose with whom to share the day.
He looked to the beautiful woman who sat on his right. Clad in a sprigged day dress and with her hair coiled demurely at her nape, she set down her fork and reached for her teacup. As she took a sip, she met his gaze over the ivory rim of the cup, the soft smile clear in her eyes.
Yesterday, with his unconscionable behavior, was behind them. To his eternal gratitude Rose had found it in her heart to forgive him. And he had done his best last night to show her just how thankful he was. Kissed every inch of her body, lavishing the most enticing parts with the utmost attention, left her flushed and panting, eyes so heavily lidded they were mere slits, and then did it again.
He hadn’t been the least surprised when she had remained fast asleep in his arms until after ten that morning, and he hadn’t minded in the slightest. He also wouldn’t mind going back upstairs, where he could continue to express his gratitude, but . . . he’d rather spend the day outside with her.
With a soft
click
, she set her cup on its saucer.
“Do you know how to ride?” he asked.
Her lips twitched at the edges. “I’m assuming you’re referring to a horse.” A quick glance behind her, to the closed door leading to the kitchen, and then she lowered her voice to a teasing whisper. “If not, then you received your answer last night.”
“Indeed I did,” he acknowledged with a tip of his head. She had been crouched so low over him he had been able to reach her luscious breasts with his mouth. Sucked on the sensitive tips as he gripped her hips, holding her steady as he thrust up deep and hard . . . His cock jumped, bumping against the placket of his trousers, eager to confirm the lush memory. Before it could fully rise to the occasion, he dragged his thoughts back to the original purpose of his question. “But you assumed correctly. I was referring to a horse.”
“In that case, I can stay on a horse but I’m no expert.”
“No cause for concern. I have a quiet mare I keep for Rebecca when she visits. Docile thing. She won’t give you a bit of trouble. If you’d like, we can take a ride to the pond. Not quite the same as the Serpentine, but it does have some nice geese.”
“You’re luring me with the prospect of geese?” she asked, one eyebrow delicately raised.
“If it will get you to spend the day with me, then yes. Geese.”
She chuckled, the soft sound floating on the air. “Such lures, while appreciated, are wholly unnecessary. If you wish my company for a ride about the countryside, you need only to say so.”
His amusement dimmed. He thought he had been quite clear on this point when he had asked her to accompany him to Honey House, but given the past couple of days, perhaps he had not been. “And you need only to refuse, if you do not wish it. You do understand that, don’t you, Rose? You are free to do as you please.” He hated the thought that she was bending herself to his will. That she would acquiesce only to suit him, regardless of her own opinions on the matter.
Her charming smile faltered for the briefest of seconds, so quickly he would have missed it if his gaze wasn’t fixed on her beautiful face.
“Of course I understand, James.”
He reached out to cover her hand with his. “I did not invite you here for you to blindly cater to my every whim. It is perfectly acceptable for you to refuse, to speak your mind, to tell me to go to hell if the situation demands it.” Christ, she should have told him to go to hell yesterday afternoon. If ever a situation demanded it, it had been that one. He gave her hand a squeeze. “Please, grant me your honesty. I wish it above all else. Don’t burden me with the worry that your acceptance is solely for my benefit and not for your own as well.”
“But it’s only a ride—”
“Rose,” he said, cutting her off. “That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.” His pleading stare had no effect as she had dropped her attention, nudging her unused spoon with her free hand, straightening it next to her plate. The charming smile was now completely gone. “Why is it so difficult for you to be honest with me?”
She lifted one slim shoulder. She hadn’t pulled her hand free, but he knew she would snatch it back to her side the moment he released her. Her fingers were stiff with tension beneath his palm.
“The only excuse I can offer is that I am unaccustomed to such liberties.”
The threadbare quality of her voice made his heart clench. “Then accustom yourself to them,” he said gently. “When you are with me, you are free to do and say as you please.”
With me.
Somehow he kept from cringing. The qualifier shouldn’t even be necessary. No woman should ever feel obligated to submit completely to another.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes flickering up to briefly meet his.
“Your thanks, while appreciated, are wholly unnecessary.”
A hint of a smile flittered across her mouth. “Wholly?”
“Yes. In its entirety. Now then”—he laced his fingers with hers—“that ride. Yes or no?”
She looked to the window, to the beautiful sunny morning. A genuine smile curved her lips. If he did not know her better, he would not be able to tell the difference. But as it was, he could—it was in the way her eyes crinkled at the edges.
“I would like that.”
“Brilliant. Are you finished with breakfast?” At her nod, he stood and helped her to her feet. “Your lovely dress, however, won’t do you any favors on the back of a horse. Shall we change?”
He caught Mr. Webb in the entrance hall and relayed instructions to have the horses saddled. Webb didn’t look twice at their joined hands, merely nodding and disappearing out the front door. Neither did Rose’s strides falter the slightest bit at the sight of the servant. Hopefully that meant she was growing more comfortable being here with him.
They went upstairs and parted ways at her bedchamber. It didn’t take him long to don a pair of breeches and to pull on his boots. He waited patiently for her in the corridor. She emerged a good ten minutes later, dressed in a brilliant blue riding habit trimmed in ivory. The strict cut of the coat highlighted her trim waist, the skirt skimming the lush flare of her hips. It was a wonder what a fold of pound notes could accomplish. To think the modiste had claimed the task impossible. Elegant and refined, the clothes more than fit her body to perfection; they fit
her
.
She placed her gloved hand in his, and they made their way to the small stable situated around the side of the house. The mare, standing in the aisle, turned her gray head toward them as they entered the stable. The sidesaddle was already on her back, the reins looped around the iron bars of her stall. He looked over the horse’s haunches to see Webb saddling his burly bay hunter. James grabbed the mare’s reins and led her outside and into the late-morning sun.