And the Bride Wore Plaid (27 page)

“I was just riding by and thought to see what you were doing.”

“At midnight?”

“It’s twenty after,” he pointed out politely.

Her gaze narrowed.

He shook his head sadly. “Oh ye of little faith.”

“I have faith. Just not in men who knock on my window in the middle of the night.”

“I should have used the front door, but I was bored and this seemed an adventure.” He could tell from the quiver in her voice that she was nervous and fearful and just the tiniest bit excited. He smiled a little, knowing exactly how she felt. In his own way, he felt the same.

She folded her hands in her lap, her feet perfectly flat on the floor before her. The prim gesture was very much at odds with her decadent gown. “Devon, I am not an adventuresome woman. I don’t believe you should—”

“Nonsense. You are very adventuresome. You live here, alone except for the company of your servants and seven scowling giants. You are building a business that by all accounts is getting to be extremely profitable. And you can ride like an angel. How much more adventuresome do you need to be?”

Kat bit her lip. She’d never really thought of herself that way before but... he was right; she did take risks. Only not with her heart.

She was trying to figure out how to say this when he stood.

From her chair, Kat immediately leaned away, too aware of his proximity and her own lack of clothing.

“I am just going to get a drink of water,” he said in a calming voice. “May I?”

Her cheeks heated. She didn’t mean to overreact, but she was too nervous to think. “Of course. Pray help yourself.”

She watched from beneath her lashes as he went to where Annie kept a pitcher and glasses. Devon poured himself a glass of water. Then he turned and leaned against the low edge of the dresser.

He finished the water and set the glass on the dresser, his eyes wandering over Kat. “That’s a lovely gown,” he said, his voice low and deep.

She had to fight the urge to shiver. The silk night rail had been a gift from Malcolm. Kat sometimes wondered if he’d perhaps ordered it for Fiona, but when it had arrived, it had been too large for her petite frame and thus it had been passed on to Kat. However it was, she loved the feel of the silk against her skin and she wore it often. Of course, she’d never worn it in front of anyone else, and she now found herself achingly aware of every inch of fabric that hugged her bare skin.

Devon absently picked up her white scarf from where she’d placed it earlier. He ran it through his hands. “I am intrigued by you.”

“By me? Why?”

“Because you are such an interesting mixture of vulnerability and bravery. I wonder what I can do to prove to you that I am worth trusting.”

“If we had several years to debate it, it is quite possible I might eventually come to do so. But you will be leaving soon.”

Devon nodded but didn’t reply. He was looking at the scarf, a strange expression on his face.

“Kat,” he said, his gaze still on the scarf, “I think I know how to prove myself to you.” He draped the scarf over his arm and walked toward her.

Her heart thudded faster. “What... what are you doing?”

“You’ve been wounded by words—told things that were not true. So I will prove myself in deeds.”

“Deeds?”

“I am going to prove to you by action that I am worthy of your trust.”

She gripped the arms of her chair. “Why ... why is that important to you?” She waited with bated breath for his answer.

“Because if you never trust someone again, then you will be lonely the rest of your life. I don’t want that to happen to you.”

“I am not alone. I have Malcolm. He is all I need.”

“You need more than that. You need friends, acquaintances ... lovers.”

Lovers. Not “lover,” but “lovers.” That certainly said a lot about Devon St. John. Kat eyed him with a dark frown. “It is none of your concern what relationships I choose or don’t choose to have.” Or whom she chose to have them with, for that matter. Although, if she were honest, in the years since Stephen, she hadn’t really been attracted to any man. Except Devon.

His mouth quirked into a half smile so delectable that her heart thudded an extra beat. “Kat, do you think you can trust me for five minutes.”

“Five minutes?”

He nodded. “During that five minutes, I can do anything to you that I want providing it doesn’t hurt you in any way.”

“Do?” her voice quavered just a bit, but Kat couldn’t help it. Her entire body was afire with his suggestion. “What—” She licked her dry lips. “What would you do?”

“Nothing to cause you harm. Only pleasure.”

It was a ludicrous idea, although ... it intrigued her. “What if I wanted you to stop?”

“Then you say ‘stop’ and I stop.” His gaze dripped over her, lingering on her breasts before returning to her face. “And I promise only to touch you in ways that will keep you gasping in delight.”

Kat’s face heated until she thought it would catch fire. “I—I don’t know—”

He was before her now, standing in front of the chair. He looked so handsome. But it was more than that. Between them pulsed a physical longing that swept over them both like waves of the sea. It was a feeling Kat had almost forgotten.

The truth was, she wanted this man. But she also knew that she had begun to care for him and that any other step in their relationship would only jeopardize her heart all the more.

The question was, could she continue without further risking her heart?

He knelt before her. “Five minutes, Kat. No more.”

She swallowed, aware that she only had to reach out and an entire world of pleasure was hers. “Why?” she finally managed to whisper. “Why me?”

He lifted his hand and lightly traced the line of her cheek. “Because you are the most exciting, beautiful, intelligent woman I have ever met.”

When he put it that way, she
felt
exciting, beautiful, and intelligent. Strange how something as simple as a few words could have so much of an impact on her heart. But it was more than words; his gaze was painfully sincere.

“Very well,” she heard herself whisper. “You have five minutes.”

His eyes flared. “You will not regret it.”

“What—” She had to lick her lips to continue. “What do we do now?”

“We are going to build your trust.”

“How?”

“Very, very slowly.” He held out his arm, the scarf fluttering at the movement. “Lean forward and place your feet flat on the floor.”

She did as he asked, though it brought her knees against his chest.

“Afraid?” His voice was dark, deep, seductive.

Kat sent him a glance, one she hoped was quelling and disdainful. “Should I be?”

“With me?
Never
.”

One word. But spoken with such meaning that it gave her pause.

He took the scarf and ripped it down the middle, into two long pieces.

“Wh—” She blinked in astonishment as he took one of the pieces of the scarf, placed the end in the palm of her hand, and then began wrapping it about her wrist. While she watched, amazed, he took the other end of the scarf and wrapped it around the arm of the chair until her wrist was bound to the chair. “Devon, I cannot—”

He placed the loose end of the scarf in her hand. “All you have to do is let go and unwind it and you will be free. You are in control, Kat. Not me.”

He was right. As long as she held the end of the scarf in her hand, she had the ability to release herself. She watched bemused as he did the same to her other wrist.

Kat couldn’t quite believe what was happening to her. She was dressed in the decadent silk night rail in her own bedchamber, bound to a chair in front of a handsome man.

“Now,” Devon said, standing. “Here is where we begin. Do you mind if I take off my coat?”

It was very warm in the room, she thought. Actually, it was a lot warm, though little of that had to do with the fire. “Of course you may take off your coat.”

He did so, revealing a narrow waistcoat of deep blue. He tossed the jacket over the back of the chair he’d abandoned earlier. “Now. May I remove my waistcoat and shirt?”

Dear God, he was undressing right in front of her. A delicate shiver traced down her back, shimmering across her skin and making her breasts swell in response. Somehow, she found herself answering in a hushed, husky voice, “Yes.”

Within moments, his waistcoat and shirt had joined his coat on the back of the chair. He stood before her, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, his arms powerful, his chest covered with crisp, curly hair. Her fingers itched at the sight, for she wanted nothing more than to touch him.

She twisted against the bonds that held her hands.

“All you have to do is release them and they are gone.” He knelt before her, his face level with hers. “You are in control, Kat. You decide what you want. And if you ever want me to stop, no matter when, no matter what I am doing, I will do so.” He bent forward then, his lips to her ear. “You can trust me.”

She turned her face until her cheek was pressed to his. Her entire body thrummed with awareness, with need. She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her.

He pulled back slowly, his skin brushing hers as he found her mouth. He kissed her deeply, passionately, his lips hot and firm. She moaned against his mouth, leaning forward, letting all her passion flood through the embrace.

He left her mouth to kiss her cheek, her neck, the neckline of her gown, his lips teasing, caressing. She pressed forward, offering herself to him, wanting more.

Devon’s head dipped lower until his mouth was on the crest of her breast. Her nipples hardened, abrading the silk gown and tightening. She threw back her head, reveling in the sensation.

The scarf bonds tightened as she unthinkingly attempted to bring up her hands to cup his head, hold him to her. But she did not release the ends. There was something freeing about letting him have his way, about having the ability to stop it, yet not.

He slid down and pressed his mouth to her breast through her gown. She gasped, then stopped as he tongued her nipple, her gown growing damp from his efforts. The sensation of that mouth through the thin material of her gown, of the hot, damp clothing over her nipple, made her shudder already.

It felt so good, so wondrous that she could scarcely stand it. And the fact that his bared shoulders were so tantalizingly close made her torture all the more exquisite.

He slid farther down, his hands tracing the shape of her waist, her hips, her legs. On to her feet. There he stopped, meeting her gaze for a long moment. “If you want me to quit, all you have to do is say one word.”

She nodded, but made no effort to say anything.

He smiled, his hands now resting one on each ankle. “This is for you, my love.” He lifted up the bottom of the night rail, sliding the silk along her bare skin, pushing the material until it rested on her knees. Then he bent and kissed the inside of each ankle, sending tremors of feeling pulsing through her.

Kat had to fight a moan. The stifled noise seemed to inflame him, for he slid his kisses from her ankles to her knees. Cupping an ankle, he gently pushed up her night rail even more, parting her legs as he did so. Cool air wafted over her calves and the insides of her thighs.

She felt like a complete wanton, sitting exposed before him. But somehow, she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t stay away, couldn’t pretend that this attraction wasn’t burning through her.

He pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, the movement sudden and unexpected. So strong was her reaction that Kat thought she’d shoot right out of the chair. “Devon,” she gasped.

He stopped immediately, his gaze meeting hers. “Yes?”

She knew she had but to say one word and he’d stop. She could also release the scarf ends and be free to put her gown back in place, and resume her life of unending dignity. She looked down at herself, at the wet circle he’d made around her nipple, at the way the silk gown was bunched almost to her hips.

At the sight of her own legs bared and splayed, Devon kneeling between them.

God help her, she didn’t want to stop. Not now, not ever. She lifted her eyes to his and said not one word, but two. “More, please.”

I’ve had me share of the fair sex. ‘Tis a pity the fair sex thinks they’ve already had their fair share of me.

Cold Bob, the fishmonger, to young Peter Franshawe, tutor to the Duke of Draventon’s son after a chance meeting in a pub

Devon leaned back, the candlelight caressing his face, tracing the line of his jaw. He looked so incredibly handsome that Kat’s breath stuttered. This must have been what the angel Gabriel looked like, a vision of masculine beauty that locked the eye and sent a piercing ache straight to the heart.

Kat cleared her throat, wondering if her thighs looked fat from the angle Devon could see them. She suddenly wished for a cover. “I am a little cold.”

His brows lifted. “Afraid?”

The soft words hung in the air between them. Kat’s jaw tightened. “Of you? No. Of course not.”

“Good. There are a lot of things I’d like you to feel when you look at me. Fear isn’t one of them.”

That was certainly unfortunate because a sort of fear was shivering through her that very instant. Fear that her feelings were already so deeply engaged that she could not back away. Not that her body was retreating from him. Oh no. God forbid that Devon touch her any more intimately than he already had or she’d explode into a conflagration of white-hot flames.

The fact was that Devon St. John inspired fear and more; he was also directly responsible for every last twinge of lust, desire, and unmitigated longing that had wracked her nights ever since she’d met him. And it was time she stopped fighting it and accepted the simple fact that she wanted him.

Slowly, she released the ends of the scarf and tugged her arm free, first one, and then the other. He rocked back on his heels, disappointment flickering across his face.

She unwound the scarf scraps from her wrists and collected them in a ball. Devon stood, looking down at her with an inscrutable expression. “Kat, I—”