Just Wicked Enough (20 page)

Kate saw a boy who wasn’t raised in the shadow of his mother’s love, who as a man distanced him-self from that very emotion—even now. Not acknowledging that it was love that drove his actions. It could only be love for his mother, not respect for her position as a peer that had caused him to sacrifice his pride.

“I think…” She swallowed. “I think we should visit the bank on our way home. We need to alert them that your signature will work as easily as mine for releasing funds.”

“That’s not the reason I brought you here.”

“I know. You wanted me to understand why you did what you did.” Oh, God, she wanted to weep for what he’d suffered, for the burden she’d inadvertently added to his life. “But I think it was rather silly of my father to trust you with his daughter and not his money.”

He studied her as though he wanted to say more and she wondered if a time would come when he’d ever feel comfortable revealing his innermost thoughts to her. She supposed what he’d revealed today was a start.

Unfolding his body, he reached down, slipped his hand beneath her elbow, and helped her rise. It seemed appropriate that they not speak as they walked to the carriage, because it was as though they were leaving a place of mourning.

S
everal hours later, Kate’s generosity in giving Michael access to all their funds still overwhelmed him as he stood in his office, looking at the floor plans he’d drawn more than six months ago. At Glennwood, he’d been unable to find words to adequately thank her. Every thought that came into his head seemed trivial, insignificant, trite. All the things he’d dreamed of accomplishing when he’d sought out a wealthy heiress seemed within easy reach.

All because he’d dared to share with her the truth about his mother.

Kate had been understanding, sympathetic, and comforting. They’d journeyed home with her hand wrapped around his, as though she were silently communicating that no matter what happened, what troubles they faced, she’d always be there for him. For the first time in his life, he truly didn’t feel alone.

The realization terrified him. He was afraid to trust this feeling of…sharing. And yet, he feared more that it might slip away.

He’d watched Kate during dinner. It was strange that the magnitude of what he’d done—taking her as his wife—was only just beginning to sink in. She’d be at his dinner table every night for the remainder of his life. She’d be in the bedchamber next to his. He’d told her father that she’d deserved to be asked for her hand. How did he compensate for such a glaring injustice? Staring at his drawing, he wondered how he could give her now what he should have given her before?

He’d taken her hand in marriage, been given her father’s funds, and all she’d asked for in return was that he earn her love by deciphering her favorite color. What a botched job he was doing of that.

Following dinner, she’d gone to the library to read while he’d come to his office to look over the dreams that would now become reality—because of her generosity. He’d brought the plans with him, so he could discuss them with the builders. At Raybourne, Michael hadn’t told Kate why building the house was important to him. Now he no longer needed to tell her anything.

Strange, how suddenly he desperately wanted to. How desperately he wanted to tell her everything, share his sins, his transgressions…he didn’t want her looking at him as though he were noble. He wanted her to see him for what he truly was. He needed her to hate him as much as he hated himself—

It was so much easier to deal with hate than love.

And God help him, he was coming to love her.

Kate sat in the library, the book open in her lap, the pages unread. She didn’t know why she’d thought things between her and Michael would change after his revelations this afternoon and her willingness to remove all restrictions from his spending. What truly bothered her was that she was becoming as morose as he.

Following dinner, he’d excused himself to adjourn to his study, no doubt because he preferred brooding in solitude. It hurt to see him so, and she wondered when she’d begun to care for him so much that seeing his misery was a personal attack against her own happiness.

She thought about seeking him out, insisting that he spend the evening with her, but she was weary of his doing everything simply because it was what she wanted. She wanted him to want to be with her. She wanted—

She glanced up as the door to the library opened, and he walked in holding a scroll. It was embarrassing, the joy that shot through her at the sight of him. Did he ever experience such gladness upon seeing her?

“I wanted to share something with you,” he said quietly.

Closing her book, she couldn’t have been more pleased if he’d told her he’d planned to present her with the Crown jewels. She rose elegantly, trying not to appear too giddy.

He began clearing the desk, then spread the scroll out, anchoring one side with the lamp and the other side with a book.

“I recognize it. The house you want to build near the pond,” she said.

“Yes, I’m building it for my mother. I thought you might be interested in the details.”

“I’m very interested.” And she wished they weren’t quite so formal with each other, as she moved around to stand beside him, so she could have the same view as he did.

“I want to move my mother out of Glennwood. I want to give her a place where she can feel safe and secure.”

“Why so small? We can well afford something much grander than this.”

“My mother gets easily lost. It was one of the…it was the reason I began to suspect something was wrong.”

When several heartbeats of silence followed, she looked up at him. He was looking at the parchment, but she didn’t think he was seeing the lines and numbers. She thought he was trapped in his memories. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“It was at the country manor. As you’ve seen, it’s quite large. A hundred and thirty-seven rooms. Hallways, alcoves. She got lost. Not just lost, but terrified. She was shrieking. She couldn’t find her way back to her bedchamber. It was past midnight. I’m not even sure why she left her bedchamber to begin with.” He leaned over the drawing, tracing a finger over the lines that he’d drawn. “I want to give her a small house. A front room, the parlor if you will. To the side will be the dining room. A large opening between the two. The back of the parlor will lead into her bedroom.” He cleared his throat. “I want her bedroom to look familiar. My mother slept in your bedchamber before you did. I would like to move the furniture into her new home.”

He shifted his gaze to her as though he expected her to object.

“I think that’s a lovely idea.” Then because she longed to see him smile, she said, “Until I purchase new furniture for the room, I think you and I shall play hide and seek every night.” He stared at her; she explained, “I’ll sleep in a different bedchamber and you’ll have to seek me out. We could make it a game.”

“Do you think this humorous?”

“Your mother’s situation, no. But I’d like to see you smile.”

He scoffed. “Smile.”

He said it as though he could barely remember what the word meant.

She touched a small area on the drawing. “What’s this?”

“That’s where the nurse will sleep. I want to hire three nurses, each to look after her for eight hours, so she is never alone. They’ll stay in the main manor except when watching her. And of course, a lady’s maid, a housekeeper, a cook, although they can stay in the main residence. My mother can be trying at times.”

“You’ve given a lot of thought to this.”

His attention was back on the drawing. “Yes.”

She studied his profile, his proud, arrogant pro-file, with the three scratches along his cheek that she selfishly hoped wouldn’t scar and mar his features. “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of anything so noble—”

“Noble?” He released harsh laughter. “You have no idea the things I’ve done, the things I approved them doing to her.” He walked to the corner table, poured whiskey into a glass, and downed it. “I let them dunk her in freezing water because they said the shock of it would bring her back to her senses.”

He poured and downed another glass.

“When she was hysterical, I let them restrain her in this jacket that prevented her from moving her arms.”

He poured and downed another glass.

“You were desperate for her to be well.”

He spun around and glared at her. “I was desperate to end my own aguish.” He took a step toward her. “I want to forget her as easily as she has forgotten me.” He grabbed her arms and shook her. “Do you not understand? I hate what she has made me become, what she has forced me to do.” He shook her again. “I just want to forget.”

If tears accompanied his last rasped declaration, she couldn’t say because he drew her close, buried his face in the curve of her neck. “Help me forget, Kate. Help me forget.”

He held her close, this man who’d insisted he’d no longer be denied, held her close and waited, as though having hurt her with the revelations of the past two days and nights, he feared she’d not welcome him into her arms, into her bed. She ran her hands up into his hair, allowed the rebellious strands to wrap around her fingers.

“Yes,” was all she whispered, and all he needed.

Bending down, Michael lifted Kate into his arms and carried her from the room. He wondered if she had an inkling how desperately he wanted to become lost in her fragrance, her warmth, the silkiness of her body. Or did he guard his desires as carefully as she guarded her favorite color? Did he want her to know? Did he want to be that vulnerable? If he lowered his defenses, would she hurt him as his mother had?

Would she say hateful things and accuse him of wrongdoings for which he was innocent? Would she grow to despise him for actions taken or would she come to care for him regardless of his faults?

As he carried her up the sweeping stairs, taking two steps at a time in his eagerness to be with her, it was terrifying to contemplate how dependent he’d become on having her near. Last night the house had seemed so quiet and empty. How could one woman have such a presence that her absence could be so keenly felt? And what would he do if she ever left him and didn’t return?

On the one hand, he resented that she was managing to claim so much power over him. On the other, it awed him that he had the ability to care this much. He’d built a wall around his heart to protect it, and she was slowly brick by brick, smile by smile, laugh by laugh, kindness by kindness, tearing it down. Tomorrow he’d refortify it. Tonight he simply wanted the haven she could provide.

He swept into her bedchamber with a single-minded purpose: divest them of their clothing as quickly as possible. But her hands, touching him, stroking him, as though she were as eager for him as he was for her, kept getting in the way. “Make yourself useful and start unbuttoning my clothes,” he said, as he went to work on hers.

“Always the romantic, my husband,” she murmured, kissing his neck, sending a shiver through him, as she began working on the buttons of his shirt.

Leaning back slightly, he saw that her eyes were closed. For a moment, he’d dared to think that she was here in the room with
him.
But she’d already begun to drift away into the realm where she was with another. If he hadn’t needed to escape his own anguish so desperately, he might have stopped but he couldn’t deny Kate her own escape.

So when all their clothes had been removed, he laid her on the bed and concentrated on his need. His need to lie beside her and glide his hand over the swell of her hip. His need to nestle his face in the curve of her neck where the haunting fragrance of her perfume still lingered. His need to lower his head and feel the hard bud of her nipple between his lips. His need to ease down farther and taste the saltiness of her desire. His need to feel her hips buck against him, to hear her whimpers and cries echoing around him, to feel her fingers becoming entangled in his hair, to experience the weight of her legs wrapping around him, holding him impossibly tightly.

She was kindling to his fire, and he stroked the flames with his tongue until she was writhing against him, lost in her own world, in a place where another man touched her, sparked her passions. Did it make her unfaithful?

It didn’t matter. As her body tightened and shuddered, as her gasps surrounded them, as she dug her fingers into his shoulders, it didn’t matter. She was so incredibly wet and ready for him, the tremors still cascading through her body as he glided effortlessly into the hot haven where she welcomed him with a tight, firm pulsing.

He rose above her, gazed into her languid eyes…they’d turned blue with passion, a blue such as he’d never seen. And then her eyes slid closed, and the moment that was theirs disappeared.

He ignored the pain that ripped through him—he’d given her license to dream of another—he couldn’t hold it against her for finding her comfort in memories while he found his in her. He rode her like a man obsessed, each stroke building the pleasure, each stroke carrying him farther away from everything he wanted to forget: his mother leaving his boyhood care to cold women, his mother not loving him enough to remember who he was, his wife loving another.

When Kate’s arms came around him, holding him close, he lowered himself, and buried his face in the crook her shoulder, each powerful thrust increasing his pleasure and bringing her back to the peak if her cries were any indication.

She called out to the heavens, arching against him, while his own release came swift and hard, nearly blinding him with its intensity. He held her close, struggling to catch his breath, kissing away the dew that had gathered at her temple. His mind was an empty oblivion where nothing existed except the remnants of pleasure, the silkiness of her flesh against his. He wanted to remain here all night.

Instead he pressed one last kiss to the slope of her throat, before easing away from her. His knees nearly buckled beneath him as he stood, caring little about retrieving his clothes. He’d send his manservant in to fetch them in the morning. For now, he merely wanted to fall into his bed while the memories of being with Kate were still powerful enough to carry him into blissful slumber.

Kate stared at the canopy, allowing the tears to well and slide unimpeded toward her pillow. After all they’d shared today, after what they’d just shared in her bed, how could he leave so easily?

Help him forget, he’d asked of her with a desperation that had torn at her heart. How could he give so much to her here—take so much—and not stay with her for a while longer?