A Summer Seduction (18 page)

Damaris hoped she managed to conceal the alarm that had run through her at the woman’s words. It had just struck her that not only would she have to undress right here in front of Alec, but she would also be expected to share his bed. It should have been obvious to her earlier, she knew, since she was pretending to be his wife; but somehow in her worry over Alec and her desire to seem proper in front of their hosts, she had managed to overlook this fact.

She cast a quick glance at Alec. He was sitting with the tray on his lap, digging into his bowl of stew with eagerness. But he cut his eyes toward her; they flashed almost silver in the dim light, and she knew that he was fully aware of her quandary.

As soon as their hostess left the room, he said casually, “Best hurry, now; you won’t want to risk catching cold. I am sure you’ll look quite fetching in your new nightrail.”

“I think I preferred you when you were unconscious.”

He hid his smile by taking a sip of tea. “Honestly, Damaris… you’ve nothing to fear from me. I’m weak as a kitten; I couldn’t do anything to sully you even if I were cad enough to try it. Look: I’ll even close my eyes while you undress.”

Ostentatiously he closed his eyes and covered them with one hand. Damaris was too cold and wet not to accept his offer. She turned away and peeled off her clothes, toweling off as quickly as she could. She stacked the damp things just outside the door, after dropping the nightgown over her head. It was far too large for her, as Mrs. Putnam possessed a wider girth than she, but it was a trifle short despite that, for the woman was also several inches shorter. Well, she thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the washstand, at least she would not have to worry about appearing seductive. The high-necked, long-sleeved, plain gray flannel gown did little to enhance her looks.

She turned back and found Alec watching her. She scowled. “You promised to close your eyes.”

“I did. For quite some time. I cannot help it if you are slow.” He grinned, setting his bowl aside and leaning his head back against the pillows. His eyes drifted closed and he opened them again with effort.

Damaris picked up a small crocheted blanket that lay folded across the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her
shoulders. She came over to take the tray from Alec’s lap. His eyes were half-closed again, but he murmured, “You have a lovely back, by the way.”

“My back is hardly an appropriate topic for conversation,” Damaris replied tartly, and whisked away the tray.

She set it down on the dresser, then picked up the other bowl of stew and sat down on the stool in front of the fire. She took a spoonful into her mouth and let out an unconscious sigh of pleasure. The soup was thick and meaty and deliciously hot. For the first time in an hour, she was beginning to feel warm again. Damaris glanced over at the bed. Alec had reclined, his eyes closed, and his chest was rising and falling softly in the slow rhythm of sleep.

Damaris wondered just how much of her he had seen, and heat rose in her cheeks. He was a complete scoundrel, of course, to take advantage of the situation like that, but it stirred something inside her to think of him watching. She could not help but wonder what ran through him as he looked at her—and what might have happened if he had not been “weak as a kitten.”

She supposed that it must make her rather wanton that such thoughts set up a warm ache between her legs. It was always rumored that widows were likely to be promiscuous, that having known a man’s touch, they were more inclined afterward to seek it. But that had not been the case with her. Barrett Howard had not been a harsh lover, but the few times he had lain with her, he had not lingered along the way, but had raced to the conclusion of the act, and Damaris had
found all the fuss over the experience rather overblown. After their brief marriage was over, she had had little urge to take any man into her bed. She had had some twinges of feelings now and then, she would admit that, but all in all, it had not been difficult to remain chaste.

But now, thinking of Alec, she could not deny that she felt… well, unusually loose and warm. Her mind went back to the sight of his bare chest and arms, his skin slick from the rain, stretched taut over the thick pads of muscles. She wondered what it would feel like to tease the tip of her tongue across that skin, how it would taste. Truth be known, if she could have looked past the blanket without his knowing while he took off the rest of his clothes, she would have done so.

Damaris shook her head, faintly shocked by her own thoughts, and turned her attention back to finishing the stew. When she had done so, she set the bowl aside and unwound the towel from her head. Using her fingers, she worked through her wet hair in front of the fire, separating the strands and doing her best to dry it. Her hair was thick and long and rather tangled, and it was not an easy task. She found a widetoothed comb on the dresser and used it to bring some order to her tresses, letting the heat of the fire dry it. She hoped Babs would let her borrow a few hairpins tomorrow to wind it into a simple coil, but for now, she simply braided it into a thick plait and tied it with a bit of ribbon she found in her reticule.

Once that was done, she found herself nodding off on the stool, too warm and full to stay awake. Blearily, she raised her eyes and looked over at the bed. Alec was curled up on his
side, burrowed under the covers; she could see little of him except for the tumble of bright hair on the pillow. He would not notice if she crept under the covers, too. And where else was she supposed to sleep? There was not even a chair in this small room, only the stool upon which she sat. Her only option besides the bed was to wrap a blanket about herself and sleep on the floor, which seemed excessively hard and probably cold as well.

Standing up, she tiptoed to the side of the bed opposite Alec and stood indecisively. He was asleep, she reminded herself, and weakened from the loss of blood. He was bound to have a headache and a variety of other aches and pains from the fight. Even if he woke up and realized she was sleeping beside him, surely he would not feel well enough even to want to take advantage of the situation. Besides, he had promised, however jokingly, that she was safe from him, and Damaris was certain that whatever else Alec might be, he was a man of his word. Anyway, she was likely to awaken before him, given the state of his head, and she could slip out of bed again without him ever being the wiser.

Damaris hesitated for a moment more; then, taking a breath, she put aside her makeshift crocheted wrap and slid beneath the covers. She lay for a moment, breathing shallowly, but Alec did not stir. It was warm as an oven under the sheet and blankets, for Alec’s large body gave off a tremendous amount of heat, and as she lay there, Damaris could not help but relax. Turning onto her side, she snuggled into her pillow and gave herself up to sleep.

S
he was blazing hot, and
there was a heavy ache between her legs. Pleasure tingled through her nerves and across her skin. Alec murmured to her, and she shivered at the low timbre of his voice. She moved her legs restlessly, wanting him, eager for him. Hunger was like a sword stabbing through her.

Damaris’s eyes flew open. She was lying in bed, suffused with heat, her back up against a hard male body—Alec’s. She was in bed with Alec. He engulfed her, his body curled around hers, his head resting on her hair. His breath teased at her ear, sending little ripples of excitement through her. And his hands… good Lord, his hands! His arms were wrapped around her, one large hand covering one of her breasts, and his other hand—Damaris drew in a shaky breath. His other hand was between her legs, pressed firmly against her, and though the cloth of the nightgown lay between them, it presented little barrier.

And she was utterly, scorchingly on fire, inside and out. She needed to get out, she thought, and tried to edge away,
but in his sleep, Alec’s arms tightened on her, holding her in place. He mumbled incoherently, snuggling into her hair.

She was trapped.

If she pulled too hard, he would come awake, and there she would be in this embarrassing position. Her nightrail had gotten hiked up in her sleep, exposing much of her legs, and one of his legs was curled around hers. She could feel the brush of the hair on his leg against her skin. She could feel, moreover, the thick ridge of flesh prodding into her backside. Worst of all, though, was the fact that his hands were on her so intimately, as if she were his.

No, worse than that was the desire flooding her, the hunger that sizzled through her veins and swelled, pulsing, between her legs. Her breasts were full and heavy, the nipple prickling against his palm. His hand moved fractionally on her breasts, sending the material of her gown sliding over the sensitive nub, and pleasure radiated out from it. His lower hand wriggled deeper, pressing into her, and to Damaris’s abashed amazement, her legs reflexively moved farther apart, giving him access to her.

What was the matter with her? She knew she must move, must break the embrace and jump out of bed. If she moved quickly enough, even if the movement awakened him, he might not realize how intimately they had been twined together.

And yet she continued to lie in his arms. He made a soft noise in his sleep, nuzzling into her hair, and his fingers moved insistently between her legs, rubbing the gown against
her. Damaris’s breath turned ragged. His skin flamed against hers, and he pushed her hips deeper into his pelvis, his fingers sliding rhythmically up and down.

Damaris closed her eyes and concentrated on lying very still so that she would not awaken him. He mumbled something—was that her name? Or perhaps it was only a curse.

Desire knotted in her, each stroke of his fingers ratcheting up the tension. Moisture flooded between her legs, but she could not even find enough strength to be embarrassed. He was having his way with her—and he wasn’t even awake! But she could not bring herself to care. All she cared about was that coiling ache within her, the flesh that swelled and hungered for his touch until she had to clench her teeth to keep from moaning aloud. She wanted to move against his hand, to hurry the pleasure that danced just beyond her, to sob with the need that burgeoned inside her. The hard, twisting something built and built…

It exploded within her, a burst of pleasure so intense she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out. Waves of it washed through her, inundating every part of her, and her whole body trembled under the force of the explosion.

She felt Alec jerk, and she knew he had awakened. She kept her eyes closed, unable to face him. If he believed her to be asleep, he would not know how she had stayed beneath his hand, unable to forgo the pleasure. She waited, forcing her breathing into a slow, calm rhythm.

He let out a little groan close to her ear, and she felt his lips press into her hair. Slowly, he pulled his hands from her, sliding
over her in a final caress before he released her. He bent to kiss the point of her shoulder, his breath searing her skin, then sat up. It was hard to keep herself from reaching out and pulling his hands back onto her.

She heard him release a long breath and felt the bed give as he slid out. He roamed about the small room, pausing at the fireplace to poke at the embers and going to the window to pull aside the curtain and look out. It was incredibly difficult to keep up her pretense of sleep. She kept thinking of his long, leanly muscled body naked in the morning light, and she had to fight the urge to open her eyes and look at him.

At last he wrapped the blanket around him and cracked open the door. He let out a little grunt, then closed the door again. He had not left, and Damaris wondered what he was doing, but then she realized that the soft noises she heard were the sounds of him getting dressed. He must have found his dried clothes waiting outside the door. Finally, when Damaris thought she could not keep her eyes shut a moment longer, he left the room.

Damaris blew out her breath in a burst and rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. What had just happened? Her body tingled all over, her blood was thrumming in her veins, but at the same time she felt warm and languid and loose, as if her very bones had turned to jelly. Though her marriage had been brief, she had thought she knew what took place in the marital bed. Clearly, her knowledge was severely lacking. Everything that had happened between her
and Alec, from that first heated kiss to this morning’s caresses, had been a revelation. If this was what most women found in marriage, she could understand the reputation widows held for wantonness.

She closed her eyes, luxuriating for a moment longer in the sensations still resonating in her body before it occurred to her that she ought to get up and dress before Alec returned to their room. She slid out of bed before she recalled that she, no more than Alec, had any clothes to don. Last night after she had undressed, she had set her wet things outside the door just as Mrs. Putnam had told her. A quick glance around confirmed that her frock had not magically appeared.

Remembering what Alec had done earlier, she opened the door a crack, but there were no clothes lying conveniently there, either. There was, however, Alec, striding out of the large central room down the short hall toward her. He carried a mug in one hand, and in the other, a pile of cloth, which Damaris recognized with a blush as her underthings. He smiled when he saw her.

“Ah, wife of mine.”