Pleasure Me (33 page)

“Please do
not
put me in the category of ‘every woman.’ ” She was clearly annoyed, and a small smile tugged at his lips as he studied her peeved expression.

“You’re an exceptional woman, Ruth. I would be hard-pressed to categorize you.”

“Then I forgive you,” she said with a smile. Her hand reached out to stroke his brow. “What role did your uncle play in this woman’s rejection?”

The memory of Beresford slamming into his bedroom that terrible night made his mouth tighten with humiliation and anger. He clenched his jaw, and the pain that followed the action made him draw in a sharp hiss of air between his lips.

“My uncle knew I was enamored with Bertha. When she invited me to her rooms one night, she did so with my uncle’s knowledge. It was obvious they staged the entire event merely to have sport with me.” His fingers curled inward until his nails dug into the palms of his hands.

“It was a cruel thing to do.”

“My uncle is a cruel man. Poking fun of my infatuation with Bertha as well as my inexperience is something that would appeal to his sadistic nature.”

“Then your uncle knew nothing of your condition.”

“No,” he rasped as the humiliation of that specific moment rolled over him again. “If Beresford had known about my . . . my condition, I have no doubt he would have tormented me with the fact long before that night. I’m certain he didn’t know until he charged into my room at the sound of Bertha’s laughter.”

The moment the bastard had discovered Garrick only had one ballock the man had zealously made use of the knowledge to torture him. Beresford had taken great pleasure in tormenting him with the threat of revealing his secrets. Even worse, he had relentlessly taken every opportunity to remind Garrick he wasn’t really a man.

Over and over again, his uncle had reiterated how Garrick’s physical flaw guaranteed that no woman would want him. He supposed he should be grateful the man hadn’t shared his secret with anyone, at least not until recently. Even now he couldn’t be sure his uncle had kept his end of the bargain they’d struck when he’d tossed the bastard out of Chiddingstone Manor.

“It explains a great deal.”

“What does?” He stiffened. He would have none of her pity.

“The fact that you never wanted me to see you—touch you.” Her quiet response held no pity, only sadness, and relief inched its way through him.

“That’s not entirely true. I
did
want you to touch me.”

It was a bare statement that left him more vulnerable than he’d ever been since the night his uncle and Bertha had played their vicious game. He met her gaze for a fleeting moment before he looked away. The woman had the ability to turn him inside out. Even when he’d been fighting so hard to survive, his only thought had been to return to her. He released a sigh as a sudden weariness gripped him hard.

“Sweet heavens, what was I thinking? You’re fatigued. And you’ve not eaten anything.”

She sprang to her feet and hurried toward the fireside table where she retrieved a large bowl off the tray. Steam still drifted off the contents, and he shook his head as she approached. Attempting to eat when his jaw and throat hurt so badly was the last thing he wanted to do.

“No,” he rasped.

“Surely you can eat a spoonful or two. Dolores made it especially for you, and she’ll be disappointed if you don’t try and eat even a little bit.” She sat down on the bed close to his shoulder and gently stirred the soup. He tried to smile at her wheedling tone.

“Guilt?”

“Absolutely, if it means you’ll eat something. Just a few spoonfuls, then you can sleep some more.”

The smile she offered him would have been more than enough to secure his obedience. With a slight nod, he opened his mouth and sipped from the spoon she held up. The broth smelled wonderful, and to his surprise it tasted even better. He managed to eat almost half the bowl before he gingerly held up his hand to silently signal he was done.

She set the bowl aside then wet a small towel in the basin resting on the nightstand. When she’d wrung it dry, she tenderly cleaned his face with the moist cloth. With that task complete, she quickly checked his bandages then helped ease him down lower in the bed. Bent over him, she cupped the uninjured side of his face.

“There,” she said softly. “Try to get some rest. I’ll be here if you need me.”

A deep weariness settled into his bones as she made him comfortable. It made his limbs heavy as lead and barely able to move as she covered him with the sheet and light blanket. The sweet smell of her filled his senses and it was the last thing he remembered as he drifted off to sleep.

Sunlight warmed Garrick’s face as he reclined in Ruth’s conservatory with his eyes closed. The indoor garden was sunny and warm, despite the slight nip in the air outside. It had been four days since the attack, and he was already feeling like himself again.

Incapacitation wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and he certainly hadn’t enjoyed it. Particularly when he hadn’t been able to move quickly enough to box his brother’s ears. Ruth had sent word to his siblings the morning after the attack, and Vincent had come to see him as soon as the message arrived at Chiddingstone House.

His brother’s comments about the impropriety of his confinement in Ruth’s house had infuriated him. He knew his brother meant well, but Vincent’s observations about the age difference between him and Ruth enraged him. He’d liked even less his brother’s concern about chatter amongst the Set because it had reminded him of the last piece of gossip concerning Ruth and him.

Fortunately, thanks to Worthington, the Set was convinced he was at death’s door, and at the moment, it was the only thing the Society pages were fixated upon. Soon though, the gossips would begin questioning his recovery time. It was one thing to be seen in public together, but to openly reside in Ruth’s home would simply make her a target for the gossips and their vicious tongues. That was something he wished to avoid at all costs, and was the reason he’d decided to return home tomorrow.

He frowned. No, that wasn’t the real reason, and he knew it. When she’d agreed to be his mistress at the orphanage, he’d thought their relationship would remain essentially as it had been with a few minor adjustments. He should have known better. Planned better. He might even have avoided being attacked if he’d been thinking more clearly. He should have known he was inviting trouble by walking home the other night. He snorted with anger.

That hadn’t been the problem. He could have easily defended himself if he’d been paying attention. By the time he’d realized his attacker wasn’t just another bumbling drunk, it had been too late. It was one thing to box with an opponent in the ring under the Marquess of Queensbury rules. A street fight was completely different.

If one wasn’t prepared for an encounter like he’d had . . . the truth was, he was damned lucky to be alive. He looked down and glared at his bare hand. The bastards had beaten and robbed him, even taking the ring that bore the Stratfield family crest. It was the one thing of his father’s that Beresford hadn’t touched.

The crest would make it impossible for the thieves to sell the jewelry in one piece, but they would have no trouble prying the stones out of the ring. The minute he got home, he’d send for Blackstone for a report on what the man had found out about his two attackers and his missing ring.

Another grimace tugged at his mouth. Thanks to his assailants, Ruth had discovered his secret. Now everything had changed between them, and he had no idea which way to turn. Especially when the idea of parting with Ruth was unthinkable. Even when he’d barely been conscious he’d known when she was near.

Between the laudanum and the pain, it had taken him almost a day to realize Ruth had been sleeping in one of the fireside chairs. He’d immediately insisted she share the bed with him. Although she’d protested, he’d finally gotten his way, and for the past two mornings, he’d woken up to the sweet sensation of Ruth curled up into his chest. It was a physical sensation that hovered between pleasure and torment.

Even the occasional twinge of sore muscles when her body bumped his in the middle of the night had been bearable just to have her in his arms. Unlike the past few days, when he’d awoken to find her gone from the bed, he’d been the first to awaken this morning. His physical reaction to her had been immediate. That hadn’t been a surprise, but the revelation that followed had stunned him.

He loved her.

It was a simple, straightforward insight that had taken him by surprise. And it complicated matters between them that much more. Despite her words of understanding, he was still uncomfortable with the idea of exposing himself to her. Now it would be even more difficult. He was certain she was very fond of him, but love?

The idea of her rejecting him was far more painful than he cared to consider. He had no desire to experience the humiliation he’d experienced at the hand of Bertha. Not that he believed Ruth could ever be that cruel, but losing her would be unbearable. The question he really wanted an answer to was whether she had feelings for him.

But how to broach the subject? She was already sensitive about the age difference between them. When she discovered it was an even greater gap than she believed, the likelihood of her casting him aside was far greater than he wanted to think about. He needed to come up with a plan that would allow him to break the news to her gently before someone in the Set did it for him. He just wasn’t sure how to do that without jeopardizing their relationship.

All of these thoughts had pounded their way into him when he’d awakened with her sweet body curled up against his. It was why he’d left her sleeping and rose to dress. His thoughts were too chaotic to keep her from thinking something was wrong, and the last thing he wanted to do was confess his feelings for her until he knew exactly how to address the situation to ensure a favorable outcome.

His jaw was still sore, but the swelling had almost disappeared, yet the bruising looked like he’d forgotten his morning shave. His sides were still bruised, but the only part of him that really hurt was his leg.

Simmons had stated Garrick had been lucky the leg wasn’t broken considering the size of the bruise he bore. Walking was still painful, but he didn’t let it keep him from making his way downstairs. The minute Dolores had seen him in the foyer she’d fussed over him like a mother hen, ordering him into the conservatory where she’d brought him breakfast and the London
Times
.

The paper had failed to hold his interest as thoughts of Ruth had relentlessly pushed their way into his head. She’d not been shocked by his condition and had discounted the thought that other women would find him repulsive because of his birth defect. It made him love her all the more, but it didn’t ease his fears.

Despite her reassurances, to his recollection, she’d not expressed whether or not she would want to lie with him again. Perhaps she’d simply been waiting for him to recover before she welcomed him back into her bed. And he wanted that very much. Even with his injuries, his body was more than ready to experience her again.

He wanted to feel her creamy center wrapped around his cock, while his mouth worshiped her beautiful breasts, her delicious mouth, and every silky inch of her. Still, it wasn’t just the thought of making love to her that tugged at his heart. He loved everything about her. There was the sweetness of her smile, the way her brow wrinkled slightly when she was concentrating on a problem.

But it was the sound of her laugh that gave him the greatest joy. Especially when he was the one to have made her laugh. She’d never said it outright, but he knew her life had not been the fulfilling one she wanted. Her father’s betrayal had cut deep, and there were moments when she’d stopped herself from expressing the sadness she felt at the life she could have had. He wanted to protect her from anything that threatened to harm her.

If there were one thing he could do for her, it would be to convince the Marquess of Halethorpe that the man had wronged his wife and his daughter. He just needed to find a way to prove it. Considering Tremaine’s character, it was impossible not to think that his father had been any less of a cad. If he could find a way to reconcile the two, it would give her one more reason to consider spending the rest of her life with him.

He knew the thought shouldn’t have surprised him, but it did. He’d always believed Vincent would produce an heir for the family line. The idea of him marrying had been as remote a thought as fathering a child. But he knew he wanted more from Ruth than what they had now. He wanted her for his wife. The thought of losing her to another man made his gut clench. He dragged in a deep breath, and his nostrils filled with an exotic fragrance he knew well. Her lips were soft and warm against his as she bent over to kiss him.

“Good morning,” she said as she sat down next to him on the chaise lounge. “I’m surprised to see you up and about so early. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you.” He forced a smile to his lips.

“I’m glad.”

Her hand grasped his, and the touch launched a flood of tension through his body. The speed with which it blasted through him showed him how close to the edge he was where she was concerned. The wrong word or move would reveal parts of him that he’d kept hidden away for years. Parts he wanted to share with her, but not knowing how deep her affections went made it impossible for him to open up to her.

It only reinforced the fact that he needed a plan. Although he didn’t have the slightest idea what that plan would entail. How did one court a courtesan and convince her to marry oneself, particularly if she were older and sensitive about her age? He swallowed the knot swelling his throat closed.

“You’ve been such an excellent nurse I feel strong enough to return home today.”

“But you’re still not well!” she exclaimed with dismay.