Johanna Lindsey (21 page)

“Your Paris that you so frequently glorify is no better,” Denton countered. “Traipse through the gutters and you’ll get doused with piss no matter which big city you’re in.” His wife gasped at his slur on her beloved city. “You were not in Paris long enough to appreciate

—!”

“I was there long enough to be glad I’m never going back—and neither are you. You spend enough money on this side of the channel. We’re not going to add a shopping spree in France to the extravagance you practice.”

“Perhaps if you were not so stubborn in your denials, then I would not be so extravagant,” Juliette purred.

The remark caused Denton to flush brightly, indicating more than one double entendre. What exactly had he denied her to earn the punishment of her extravagance? Certainly not a mere trip to France. So perhaps the “denials” referred to his refutation of something Juliette considered the truth?

Then again, she may not even have meant denials per se. While her English was remarkably good, she still occasionally used a wrong word merely because she was off a little on the definition of it.

Abigail tried once more to introduce a topic everyone could partake of. The dowager duchess’s upcoming party for the newlyweds worked nicely. Margaret had mentioned it to her after the ladies had left today. And Denton must have already warned his wife about the marriage, since she showed no surprise upon hearing about it now.

Sebastian merely raised a brow at Margaret. While the dinner conversation consisted of speculating about the guest list and a little gossip about a few of the names mentioned, Margaret couldn’t help but notice that Sebastian participated in none of it. He hadn’t said a word since Juliette’s arrival. But he watched Margaret like a hawk. And, while she was seated opposite him, she took pains not to glance directly at him even once.

When the footman brought dessert, the table fell silent, but it was not an uncomfortable silence.

One of the cook’s favored specialties, dessert was a rich creamy chocolate topped with mounds of fluffy cream that everyone dug into with gusto. It was very similar to the concoction Margaret had nearly tossed at Sebastian’s head the first night they’d dined together at her home. The memory caused her to look up at him, spoon in mouth, to find his eyes hot on her. Had she said the silence wasn’t uncomfortable? It just got extremely so for her.

Edna was in Margaret’s room to help her undress, but Margaret dismissed her maid the moment her hard-to-reach fastenings were seen to. She was afraid Edna would notice her nervousness and figure out the cause. Edna had already huffed and mumbled that afternoon about the inappropriateness of Sebastian

’s sleeping in there, even though she’d brought in the extra bedding and dumped it in the bathroom. She and Oliver were the only two who knew the “marriage” was a farce.

The hour was still early. Margaret was dressed for bed in her most becoming nightgown, a lacy blue sheath she had bought in Paris on her tour. She was surprised Edna had included it in the few things she’d brought over from White Oaks, but she’d noticed it last night. She was also surprised that after Edna’s grousing earlier that day, she hadn’t removed it from Margaret’s choices.

It was the first time she’d ever worn it because after she’d bought it, it had seemed too expensive to sleep in. It was certainly too thin to wear at that time of year, even if a fire was burning in the hearth. It was sheer, with just touches of lace, revealing much more than it should have.

After glancing in the mirror, she found herself blushing and feeling more nervous than she’d been before she’d put on the gown. So she quickly changed into a serviceable white cotton gown that buttoned to her neck and wasn’t the least bit enticing. She was not going to be obvious in her anticipation of Sebastian’s lovemaking.

Having come to that decision, she also turned off all the lamps, spread the fire so it lost its glow, and buried herself deep under her covers. She was going to be asleep when Sebastian chose to retire.

Well, she could hope…

T
HE HOUSE WAS QUIET as Sebastian moved through it. God, he missed Giles. Every room in this house reminded him of his friend. He missed his father, too, for that matter, the father he used to have before he had lost his love and respect.

He’d briefly sat next to Douglas’s bed late last night, when thoughts of Margaret sleeping so close drove him out of her room for a while. He’d noted the gray hair blending with the black. Natural enough.

Denton had more gray, which was unnatural at his age. What the hell could have caused it? Stupid question. He was married to Juliette. She could cause anyone to go prematurely gray.

His father should have remarried. Watching him through the window the other night, he’d found him a damn lonely man. He had a younger son he’d never been all that proud of, a daughter-in-law he didn’t like, a mother who wouldn’t talk to him, a best friend who had severed their relationship, and an older son he considered dead who wasn’t dead. He had no one he could talk to anymore about anything that mattered. At least Sebastian had John.

Why had his father never married again? Didn’t want to bring a gentle lady into a house of strife?

Or maybe he did want to. He recalled the brief story Margaret had told him. She had suggested that Douglas marry her and then laughed, but maybe she hadn’t really been joking. Maybe Douglas had given her reason to believe he was interested…

The thought disturbed him for a moment, until he recalled that Denton also seemed to be enamored of Margaret, and that thought thoroughly infuriated him. She’d lived in this house for four years. What exactly had happened here during that time?

It didn’t take but a moment for him to doubt that his father’s feelings had run in that direction.

Douglas wasn’t too old for her, but he would have seen it as taking advantage of his ward, since she might have been obliged to agree out of gratitude. He was too honorable to have done that. But Denton, married to an adulteress whom he fought with constantly, had he sought solace in his father’s beautiful ward? Well, he couldn’t have her…

He went upstairs and found Margaret’s room completely dark. He swiped one of the lamps from out in the corridor and placed it on the table in the room. He approached her bed. She was sleeping, or trying to give him that impression. Bloody hell.

He removed his coat, tossed it over the nearest chair, but then noticed the blue material already piled on the seat of it. He fingered it, lifted it, and raised a brow. Glancing at Margaret again, he almost laughed when he saw what she chose to wear to bed instead. That was a message if he’d ever seen one, about as loud a no as he’d ever heard. He approached her bed anyway.

What had caused her blushes tonight at dinner, then? He could have sworn she was going to take him up on his offer. Had she been remembering their kiss? Had she been feeling nothing more than simple embarrassment?

He was having a deuced hard time figuring out the lady. She had professed to dislike him right up front, yet she dealt with him in a straightforward manner. He’d seen no sign of any real dislike. And any anger she’d displayed had been temporary and induced by him at the time. It had had nothing to do with the past. Perhaps she’d said she disliked him because she thought she ought to feel that way?

She was attracted to him—he’d sensed it more than once—yet she fought it. Because of her sister? Margaret was logical about most things, but about that she wasn’t. Silly reasoning. He could accept the blame when it was his. But he had doubts that Eleanor had run away for the assumed reasons.

He’d studied her letter briefly, long enough to decipher a name in it: Juliette. Everything, it seemed, pointed back to Juliette.

And their “marriage” had been at Margaret’s suggestion. She’d come up with the idea damned quickly, too. He could make more out of that, though he probably shouldn’t. Everything she did or agreed to do stemmed from her desire to “save” Douglas, after all. And she had every confidence that Sebastian would see to that.

He sat down on the edge of her bed for a moment, just a moment. She wouldn’t know, was sleeping soundly. But even in sleep, she had a profound and immediate effect on his body. Once again he felt the lust for her that had tormented him last night. He groaned. Apparently he couldn’t get this close to her and not want her. It was happening every bloody time now since he’d first tasted her. He needed to get this lust out of the way, and soon, so he could concentrate on the job he was there to do.

She continued to sleep, curled in a ball, buried deep under her covers, her long hair spread out on the pillow behind her. Even in the dim light that reached across the room, the brown of her hair gleamed with golden streaks. He wanted to gather it in his hands, rub it against his face. That wouldn’t suffice, when he wanted to do a hell of a lot more than that.

He should take himself off to the cold bathroom where she’d no doubt arranged bedding for him.

And spend another painful night thinking of her warm, lush body? He didn’t move. He’d be a cad to take advantage of her. He bloody well knew that. The old Sebastian wouldn’t have, but The Raven would….

M
ARGARET LAY IN BED concentrating on her breathing. If only she had fallen asleep before Sebastian arrived, but she hadn’t, and now it was taking her every conscious effort to keep her breathing sounding natural, to keep from holding her breath as was her habit when she was around him.

She had heard him move about the room but hadn’t yet heard him close himself in his small sleeping area. She’d cracked her eyes open just once, to see that he’d brought a light into the room. She wasn’t going to risk trying it again to find out what was taking him so long to retire.

She knew precisely when he came to stand beside her bed. She even guessed why. It was her fault. All day she’d been wondering what making love with him would be like, and somehow he’d figured out what she was thinking.

The bed dipped. Oh, God, he’d sat down on it! Should she turn in that direction? Would that be natural? Maybe she should snore. No, she didn’t know how to fake a snore. If she tried, he’d probably laugh and know she wasn’t asleep.

He was staring at her. She felt it and would be blushing soon if he didn’t stop it. Was the light bright enough for him to notice? If she blushed now, she’d never forgive herself. Breathe, blast it!

Her nerves were going to shatter soon. She was going to get up and start screeching at him for putting her in such a state of high anticipation.

“If you’re sleeping, you won’t hear this, will you, Maggie?” His voice actually had a calming effect on her. It was very quiet, so she knew he wasn’t trying to wake her. She relaxed somewhat. He was going to tell her what was on his mind and she wouldn’t have to respond. That was fine. As long as he didn’t say something that made her laugh, she could get through this and then he’d go away.

“You won’t feel this, either, or you might think you’re dreaming. Would you like a nice dream, Maggie?”

Her anticipation shot sky-high again, and her breathing stopped altogether. He’d slipped his arm under her covers. The cotton of her nightgown wasn’t thin, but it wasn’t thick enough to prevent her feeling the heat of his hand on her hip. Now would be the time to wake up and stop him.

“You prevaricate when there’s no need to. You liked me kissing you. There’s so much more to it, pleasure of the kind you can’t begin to imagine.”

Her dratted curiosity was back! Why did he have to say that? And his hand hadn’t stayed put.

Her knees had already been bent toward him in her curled sleeping position. Now his hand moved down along her upper thigh to them, found that her nightgown was raised to that point, and dipped under her gown—then straight back up the middle between her thighs.

Margaret was sure she was going to pass out if his fingers didn’t stop moving in the direction they’

d taken. They didn’t. They reached the junction between her legs and slowly slid inside there.

Her eyes flew open and were caught by the golden glow in his. He didn’t stop what he was doing now that he knew she was awake. And she couldn’t get out the words to insist that he stop, didn’t really want to say them because she was too mesmerized by the pleasure he’d mentioned, which she was definitely feeling some of, a lot of…

He whipped the covers off her, slipped his other hand behind her neck, and drew her across his lap and up his chest to kiss her. The heat and passion in that kiss shot delicious sensations throughout her body. She heard a groan of pleasure. Was it his? Hers? She was crushed against him, but again, she wasn’t sure who was responsible, since she was now holding him as tightly as he was holding her. And the heated pleasure, good God, it seemed to be coming from everywhere, from his mouth, from the feel of his body, from his fingers and what they were doing, pressed so deeply inside her.

The taste and scent of him was like a heady wine that had instantly intoxicated her. She was quite giddy, flushed with heat, and utterly mesmerized by each new sensation he provoked. And with his kisses he continued to dominate her, sucking the will from her, his tongue meshed with hers so erotically.

She couldn’t guess how long he held her like that, spreading the pleasure along her senses, drawing her into the sensual storm he’d created. But suddenly he rolled them over, lifting her gown. He pulled on the loose knot at her throat and whisked the gown off her completely.

Her hair cascaded around her in wild disarray, but he gently pushed it back, clearing a path on her neck for his mouth. Scorching heat there, near her ear. He took a moment to tug on the lobe with his teeth. Shivers spread across her shoulders and followed the trail of his mouth down to her breasts. His hand plumped up one globe, feeding it to his mouth. She gasped more than once as his tongue laved across her nipple, playing with it, then his teeth scraped across the tip, giving her a jolt of sensation deep in her loins.