Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman (9 page)

BOOK: Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman
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“I’d already guessed them, my love, as well as your feelings for the man. I still long for the day when you look upon me as you do Lynnford whenever he is near.”

Her heart nearly shattered. He asked so little of her, only this. Why could she not love him with the intensity that she did the Earl of Lynnford? Especially as it was obvious to one and all that Lynnford adored his wife. He’d not been married when he was Tessa’s lover. By the time she was once again without a husband, he’d been spoken for—and loyal beyond measure to his wife.

Leo held out his hand to her. “Come and join me. Allow me to erase the sadness from your eyes.”

She could never resist him. Rising gracefully, she glided over to the bed, crawled onto it, nestled against Leo, and caressed his cheek. “I do love you, you know.”

“But not as much as you do others.”

She opened her mouth to protest and he touched his finger to her lips. “I do not resent the love you have for your sons and now your grandsons. I would never seek to usurp their places in your heart. I cannot even resent the lover of your youth, because at least through him you knew what it was to be loved. But he is not here now. Tell me you do not think of him when you are in my arms.”

“Never does he cross my mind when I am here with you.”

“Liar,” he whispered softly, and proceeded to ensure the words she’d spoken took on a measure of truth.

Chapter 4

A
s Stephen headed into his bedchamber—exhausted from chasing down and finally recapturing his idiot horse, then stubbornly galloping back to the manor while every beat of the hooves jarred his leg and sharpened the pain—he heard the baby cry out. Immediately he paused, his hand on the doorknob.

Before this afternoon, Stephen had enjoyed having the entire wing to himself. Then he’d asked that Mercy be given a room near him. He didn’t know if she was aware that he was across the hall. In spite of the fact that he’d been wearing a greatcoat, which he’d discarded downstairs, he was wet and chilled. His hair clung to his head, the water dripped onto his shoulders. He was hardly presentable.

The babe’s wails rose in crescendo. There could be no doubt he had a good set of lungs. Why was he caterwauling? Why didn’t he cease his screaming?

Stephen crossed the hallway and knocked on the door. No one else was in this wing to be disturbed, and sleep never came easily to him. He could ignore the crying, but he was concerned for Mercy. He felt a need to do something to assist her.

Lie to everyone else, you fool, but not to yourself. You simply welcome the excuse to see her again in spite of your disheveled state.

The crying stopped, but now his curiosity was piqued beyond measure. Even though he was wet, shivering, and in need of a good dose of laudanum, he found himself knocking on the door once again. “Miss Dawson?”

He heard the soft pad of bare feet just before the door clicked and she peered out through the narrow opening. Fear and worry furrowed her brow. That was how she had come to have that little indention. It deepened with her concern, and she’d no doubt spent a great amount of time concerned.

“Is anything amiss?” Stephen asked.

“No. John gets hungry this time of night.”

He found himself peering over her shoulder, striving to see the boy. What was with his blasted curiosity?

“I’m sorry if he disturbed you. I thought this was the guest wing, that we were alone.”

He saw no need to alarm her by revealing how near she was to his chambers. He would not take advantage. For some inexplicable reason, it calmed him to know that he was available if she had a need. She was in no danger here, but still the notion reverberated through his aching head that he could protect her. It was only natural that he would want to shield her from hurt, but there was more to it that he couldn’t explain.

“Is there anything you require?” he asked.

She shook her head briskly. “No. I have a nurse.” She blushed to the roots of her hair, which was caught in a stubble of a braid. He imagined it much longer, draped over her shoulder, falling just past her breast. The thought was quickly followed by the realization that he’d cupped that breast, run his tongue over it, drawn the nipple—that even now puckered under his gaze—into his mouth. “John doesn’t go hungry.”

“You hired a wet nurse?”

The blush deepened, then retreated. She angled her chin with defiance as though quite offended. “A lady of breeding does not . . . she does not handle the task herself.”

“It seems a rather odd place to draw the line.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

He leaned toward her, bit back his groan as his thigh protested. “A lady of breeding doesn’t give birth to a child out of wedlock.”

“You were otherwise occupied and not available for marriage.”

She did not attempt to excuse her behavior. He liked that about her. It was also obvious that she took exception to his finding fault with her. He didn’t blame her. He’d been attempting to distract himself from traveling a path that might have led to a disastrous destination: her again in his bed before anything was resolved between them.

He wanted to take her hand and lead her across the hallway. He wanted to feather his fingers through her hair while kissing her. He wanted her draped over his bed, too sated to move. Then he would curl around her and . . . sleep. What an odd thought.

“My apologies. My words were uncalled for. It seems my sins regarding you know no bounds. I shan’t add preventing you from sleeping to the list. Good night.” He turned to leave, his leg gave out on him—

She was there in the hallway, supporting him, one hand clutching his elbow, her arm wrapped around his waist, her scent—lavender—wafting up to tease his nostrils, while that damned breast he’d been fantasizing about pressed up against his upper arm.

“You’re cold and in pain. What were you doing out and about?” she chastised.

“I needed to ride. Now if you’ll release me and return to your room, I’ll make my way to my bedchamber.”

“I’ll assist you. Where is it?”

He nodded toward the door across the hallway and her eyes widened.

“You claimed there are an abundance of rooms.”

“There are. I cannot be held accountable if one of them is across from mine.”

Her lips twitched.

“Where’s the humor in that?”

She shook her head. “I’m just thinking of something you said when we first met.”

Damnation. They shared intimacies that went beyond the bedchamber. He couldn’t fool her regarding his mental affliction for long. He should just come out with it now, but the pain had ratcheted up to a level so intense that he could barely think.

“You may release your hold on me,” he informed her laconically.

Doubt flooded her eyes, but she moved away.

“Good night,” he repeated.

She did little more than arch a brow and cross her arms beneath her breasts, a challenge in her eyes. She didn’t believe any more than he did that he could make his way to his room without making an embarrassing spectacle of himself. Still, he was determined to try. Clenching his teeth, he stepped forward—

Pain sliced through him, he couldn’t swallow back the groan as his leg buckled, and she was once again supporting him.

“Don’t touch it,” he growled.

She froze. “What?”

“My leg. I can’t stand for it to be touched.”

“Why ever not? Is it not yet healed?”

“It’s healed. It just hurts like bloody hell.”

“May I have a look at it?”

“To what purpose?”

“I don’t know, but something isn’t right here. Based upon when I saw your name listed among the casualties, you’ve had ample time to recover. If it’s healed, you shouldn’t have this pain.”

He shook his head. “It’s not usually this bad, but tonight—”

“I insist. I need to see it.”

Her tone was adamant, her gaze unflinching. Was this how she’d ended up in his bed? He couldn’t deny the allure of a determined woman.

“Very well.” Having conceded that point, he also acknowledged that he required her assistance to reach his room. He dropped his arm around her shoulders and allowed her to escort him into his bedchamber.

Once inside, she helped him out of his jacket. While she went to drape it over a chair, he stood beside his bed and watched her, mesmerized. The efficiency in her movements appealed to him. Opening a cabinet, she removed a couple of towels and returned to his side. She’d no doubt known where to look because a similar cabinet was in her bedchamber.

He took a towel from her and began rubbing it over his hair, holding her gaze, wondering how long it would take her to realize that in order to see his leg she was going to see a good deal more. He might have been amused by the prospect, if he wasn’t shaking so badly from the cold and the agony.

“Let’s get you out of the remainder of these wet things,” she said. The words were delivered with the flat tone of a dozen nurses who had tended to him, no hint of allure, but still his body jerked with arousal that he steadfastly tamped down. His waistcoat and cravat were quickly dispensed with and found their way to the floor.

His shirt came off more slowly, her fingers tormenting him as they skimmed along his sides after she’d gathered the hem and begun lifting it over his head. She stopped, continued on, stopped again, and he knew she was cataloging the scars that were revealed.

“I suppose my chest looks very different than before,” he said quietly, wondering if they’d made love in the light, as was his preference.

His shirt landed on the discarded clothes, then she was looking up at him, her hands hovering within a whisper’s breath of his skin. Did she think he would shatter if she touched him? In all likelihood, he might. It was an aphrodisiac to know that he’d been with her before and to wonder what it might have been like. It was also unsettling. Not to know how he’d brought her pleasure, what he might have introduced her to, what still remained to be shared.

She reached past him, her breasts brushing along his shoulder and arm. In spite of his pain, her touch went straight to his groin like lightning striking the earth. He was not going to be in a position to unfasten his trousers. Although having been with him before, she shouldn’t be surprised by his arousal.

Straightening, she draped a blanket around his shoulders, overlapping the ends to spare his modesty—of which he possessed not an ounce. She, however, obviously did. In the dark then, he must have taken her in the dark. Why was she so shy, when he was so skilled at introducing a lady to the particulars of a man’s body, making her comfortable with it? Although never had that intimacy, or those lessons, resulted in a squalling babe.

“You should remove your trousers,” she said, stepping back.

“Why the blush, Mercy?” he asked as he did as she bade. Her name sounded strange on his tongue, as though he’d never before spoken it. But surely he had.

“The hour is late,” she said.

Was that her true reason? Or simply her feeble attempt to deflect the question? Tending to the wounded, she surely had been exposed to more naked bodies than his.

Trying to remove his soaked trousers and drawers while holding the blanket proved an impossibility, especially with his leg refusing to support his weight. “Give me a few moments of privacy and then return,” he ordered.

With a quick nod, she made a hasty exit. A strange reaction. Perhaps it was simply the intimacy of being in his bedroom, bringing forth reminders of another night when passion had flared between them. With great difficulty, he shed his trousers and drawers, sat on the bed, and wrapped the blanket around him—for her modesty, not his.

“Mercy!”

The door opened a fraction and she peered in, reminding him of someone fearing a monster. He wanted to laugh, but removing his trousers had brutalized his leg. He should have cut the damned things off rather than subject his leg to the struggle.

She knelt in front of him, and he wondered if she’d knelt for him before. A tremor of desire raked through him, causing him to shudder. What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

He was reacting like a randy schoolboy—in spite of everything. If not for the pain shooting through his leg, he’d already have her on top of the covers, her nightgown a distant memory, her body bared—

“My apologies,” she whispered, easing the blanket up over his leg. “I’ll be gentle.”

Only he didn’t want gentle. He wanted rough, fast, passionate. He wanted—

“Oh, my dear God,” she whispered in horror.

The pain burst through his leg, sending him off the bed, the blanket fluttering to the floor. “Christ! I told you not to touch it!”

It was only then that he realized he’d grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet. Her gaze darted down and then back up to his eyes. Hers were wide and she was trembling as much as he. The pain had diminished his arousal but it didn’t mean he wasn’t a sight to behold.

“Why the shocked look?” he asked. “Why the blush, the panting? You’ve seen it before.”
Felt it. Welcomed it.

She swallowed, licked her lips, and in spite of the burgeoning agony, damn it all, he wanted to lean in and taste her. Distraction. He needed a bloody distraction.

“It’s . . . it’s been . . . some time,” she stammered. “I’d forgotten . . .”

He knew he shouldn’t be insulted that she’d forgotten his endowments—after all, he’d forgotten her completely. Still it stung, providing him with an inkling of understanding regarding what it meant to be unmemorable. How devastated might she be to know he had no memories of her at all—other than those he’d gathered since her arrival this afternoon?

BOOK: Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman
3.44Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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