The Sinner (16 page)

He wasn't supposed to want it, but he no longer cared how this night was
supposed
to play out. His plan to maintain control was already shattered. He might as well do everything he wanted to do and suffer the consequences tomorrow.

He did not enter her, even though it hurt like hell. He reached down between their bodies, snaking his rough hands over her smooth stomach to her curls. He touched one finger to her nub and she gasped. Her fingers dug through his hair and she drew his face to hers.

He kissed her. It was no less magical than when they'd kissed in London, but much sweeter, gentler. Her tongue darted out to meet his and together they deepened the kiss.

He pressed his thumb into her folds and she clasped his shoulders. Her fingers dug into his skin, pinning him. Her legs parted and he slipped his thumb all the way into her slickness. He rubbed the nub and her body arched higher, higher. Her breath quickened. Her thighs trembled. He could feel her tighten against him and feel the moment her release hit.

She broke the kiss and cried out in surprise. She throbbed around his fingers, against his knuckles, and threw her body back into the mattress. His arm was beneath her, cradling her.

"Did my little Cat like that?" he murmured, skimming his lips over her nipples. He breathed deeply, drawing in the scent of her slaked desire.

"Mmmmm," she murmured between her heavy breaths. "That was…I am…you are… Dear God."

He chuckled and nipped her nipple with his teeth. "A mere man."

Her slender hand wrapped around his cock and he almost burst. He had to get inside her
now
. He wanted to couple with her while she was still trembling from her release. He found her mouth in the darkness and kissed her thoroughly as he slipped his throbbing cock all the way in to the hilt.

They moaned together, and he tightened his hold on her, trapping her against his body. He would not allow even the smallest space to separate them. She was his wife now. All his.

He kept that thought with him as he rocked with her, drawing in and out, as slowly as possible. It was hell, but he managed to be gentle and not end too soon.

But his resolve fled when she wrapped her legs and arms around him and held him as tightly as he held her. It was a simple gesture and she probably wasn't aware she'd even done it, but it made his heart swell. His cock too. She wanted him and there was no place he'd rather be than inside his wife.

The tension coiled in his belly and shot to his groin. Everything tightened until he thought he'd fray like a rope pulled too hard. Then, finally, he crested the wave and the release slammed him. He spurted into her. He might have growled or moaned or shouted, but he couldn't be sure. He didn't care. All he cared about was staying inside his wife for as long as possible and holding her in his arms while he climbed down from the great heights she'd taken him to.

They lay together, side by side, still joined. She tucked her head beneath his chin and pressed her lips to his throat. Their arms and legs remained entwined so it was impossible to tell where each body began and ended. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feel of her heart pounding against his ribs. Its beat slowed after a while and her breathing grew less ragged. She was asleep.

His wife. In his arms. Sated. And blissfully unaware that he was cursing himself. Now that his own thirst was slaked, he could think clearly again.

Hell and damnation. He'd just bedded the widow of the man he'd killed and he'd
liked
it. No, not liked. That didn't begin to explain the consuming passion, the sheer delight he'd felt in taking her, and the possessiveness he felt toward her now. He'd reveled in their love making, in Cat, and now he was going to pay the price in guilt.

Guilt for killing her husband. Guilt for not telling her his greatest secret.

***

For the second morning in a row, Cat woke up without Hughe beside her when he'd been there the night before. She touched the empty space. It was cold. Perhaps it meant nothing. Perhaps he simply liked sleeping in his own bed. He had enjoyed their coupling, she was quite certain of that.

But had he enjoyed it to the same level as Cat?

She was drunk on him. Her body felt loose and wonderful, womanly. There was no soreness, no shame, no regret. She had not known that a man could give a woman such pleasure with a few teasing licks and touches. Hughe had held her as she crashed into the abyss, as if she were the most precious thing he owned. He had cherished her, taken delight in her, shown wonder at her response.

So why wasn't he there when she'd woken?

Her maids helped her wash and dress, and then she went in search of her husband.

Some of the revelers were still in the great hall, holding their aching heads or still sleeping on the benches. She found Hughe crossing the courtyard with his four friends. They were an impressive sight, their riding capes billowing behind them, like avenging angels, or the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

Hughe greeted her with a smile and a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Dear wife," he said in that simpering tone she loathed. "Are you well?"

"Thank you, I am."

"What will you do today?"

She frowned at him, wishing he would dispense with the ridiculously formal conversation and just kiss her thoroughly. This was not the man who'd claimed her last night and held her tenderly in his arms as if he couldn't bear to let her go.

"I thought I might help Elizabeth settle into the gatehouse."

"An excellent notion! I believe she's there now, with Susanna and Lucy." He kissed the top of her head again. "I'll see you at dinner."

He went to walk off, but she caught his hand. He swallowed heavily and tilted his head to the side in question. "Hughe, will you come to me again tonight?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

His false smile slipped a little. He gave a barely noticeable nod. "I have to," he said simply. He slipped his hand from hers and left with his friends.

He
had
to? Well, of course he would want to be certain that his seed was planted in her. But that was a rather odd way of putting it after the passion of the previous night. There'd been no light in his eyes, no knowing smile on his lips. He'd been cool and distant, as if bedding her was simply another activity to tick off his list for the day.

It seemed she would have to seduce her husband all over again.

***

She made love to Hughe again that night. It was as beautiful and wonderful as their first time, yet once again he was gone in the morning and cool to her during the day. The following night, he came to her again and they coupled in a frenzy, standing up against the wall. The fourth night, he was slower, gentler, but no less hungry for her. He took delight in trailing his tongue over the curve of her back and buttocks and they made love while he cradled her from behind. They slept in the same position, but he was gone before dawn.

Every night for the next week, he came to her, drove her to the edge and held her tenderly as she rode the waves of passion and collapsed in his arms, sated. They made love with the candles blazing because he wanted to see her body, so different to that first night. She no longer felt too thin or plain beneath his hot gaze. He made her feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. Like she was the only woman he could ever desire.

Yet each time she thought she'd finally won him over, he was distant the following day. After two weeks, she'd had enough. She confronted him after he had been out all day with Edward Monk. His other friends had returned to their homes, but Edward and Elizabeth remained in the gatehouse.

Cat waited until the men parted at the stables, then intercepted Hughe as he crossed the courtyard. "We cannot go on like this," she said, hands on hips. She felt like a shrew, but so be it. He'd driven her to the point of sheer frustration.

"Like what, my dear?"

"Like…like strangers!"

He pouted in thought. "We are?"

"Yes! You love me at night and treat me like…like a sister during the day."

The light in his eyes dimmed, but only for a moment, and then it returned, brighter than before. "A sister! My dear, I rather think I wouldn't like a sister. Domineering creatures, so I've been told, always telling a fellow what he can and can't do. I already have one of those females in my life. No, I much prefer my little Cat wife." He tapped the end of her nose, just like an amiable brother would.

"Hughe," she said, softer, trying to turn the discussion into a more serious one. But she didn't continue. How to explain that she wanted things to be different between them? He saw that she had everything she needed. She had lovely clothes, sweet maids, a friend in Elizabeth Monk, and every comfort a woman could desire. He was cheerful, undemanding, and pleasured her at night. She was fortunate.

Yet something was lacking. She saw the way Edward looked at Elizabeth when he returned from a ride. He would kiss her thoroughly on the lips, as if they'd been parted a month. They stared into one another's eyes as if there was no one else in the world, as if they were enough for one another. Cat wanted that with Hughe. What's more, she knew she could give him that, if only he wanted it in return.

He gave her chaste kisses and friendly pats on the shoulder. He gave her gifts, but not himself. Well, only when he coupled with her. It was as if he lusted for her, yet didn't love her.

"Is it the secret?" she asked.

He laughed. "I have no secrets from you, Little Cat."

"I know you're keeping something from me. I heard you talking with your friends the night before our wedding. You said 'the other part of my life must remain separate.'"

His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. His lips twitched, the smile wavering. Then it returned harder than ever. He laughed again. "Dear wife, you must be mistaken. I do recall I was very drunk that night. Alas, I can't recall what I said to anyone. But I can assure you, I have no secrets from you."

Then why did he not quite meet her gaze as he said it? Why did the pulse in his throat throb? Those small signs that appeared only when he lied to her.

He rested his hands on her shoulders, the way one would to a friend. "You are my heart, dear one. You fill my soul and…other parts of me. La! That was almost poetic, except for that last bit. I have been working on my poetry. Perhaps you could read some and tell me what you think? After all, you and you alone are my inspiration."

He kissed her nose, tossed her a smile, and sauntered off.

She watched him go with her hands on her hips. She didn't trust him one bit. There must be a reason why he continued to behave coolly toward her, and she was determined to learn what it was.

CHAPTER 9

"We'll leave tomorrow," Hughe announced to Monk. "I see no alternative."

Monk glanced at Elizabeth, sitting next to him in Hughe's study. Hughe still found it strange, including his friend's wife in their work, but there was no way around it. Both she and Monk insisted on her involvement. This was the first assignment for the three of them. At least it wasn't an assassination; more of a rescue mission.

"Agreed," Monk said heavily with another longing glance at his wife. She frowned down at the hands folded in her lap, the picture of a demure female. Yet Elizabeth Monk was anything but demure.

"It will seem odd for us to return to Sutton Grange so soon after our last visit," Hughe said. "We need to think of a valid reason to give Lynden and others."

"I have a suggestion," Elizabeth said, looking up. "We can tell Jeffrey that I miss my friends and wanted to visit them."

"You're not coming," both Hughe and Monk said together.

"Why not? I'll be safely tucked away at Sutton Hall with my dull cousin, far from Larkham."

Hughe leaned over the desk. "Elizabeth, you don't need to come. Stay here and settle into your new home. We won't be gone long and I'll take good care of him."

Monk snorted. "I don't need mothering."

Elizabeth lowered her head again and studied her fingers. "I want to be near my husband while I still can. One day, when we have children, that won't be possible, but for now, I'd rather not be parted."

Monk covered her hands with his own and she smiled up at him. He smiled back. "She's coming," he told Hughe.

Hughe recognized a losing battle and surrendered. At least she would be out of harm's way at Sutton Hall. "That story will account for you and Monk being there, but not me. No one will believe that I miss Cole and Orlando."

"You don't have to come," Monk said. "I can get Widow Renny and her sons out of Larkham on my own."

Hughe shook his head. "Their predicament is partly my mess in the first place, and I want to see them happily resettled." The rescue mission wasn't for someone in Sutton Grange, but the neighboring village of Larkham. Hughe had organized for Cole to assassinate Widow Renny's husband some months ago. The vicious man had raped young women in his village, but had not been brought to justice. Hughe's services had been engaged through his network and he'd sent Cole to kill the cur. Afterward, there'd been problems with Renny's friends. At the time, Hughe thought it had all been smoothed over and the villagers calmed, but he'd just received word from Cole that trouble brewed again. Cole and Orlando had kept an eye on the situation and had learned that the Larkham villagers had turned on the Renny boys, claiming they would one day be just like their father. Widow Renny worried for their lives and had begged Cole to help her and her sons escape.

Hughe had organized the assassination. It was up to him to help them, just like he'd helped Cat after killing her husband.

Cat. He hated leaving her so soon after their wedding. He hoped she would miss him; he knew he would miss her terribly. Not only their wonderful nights together in her bed, but also their brief encounters during the day. They weren't nearly enough to fulfill him, but it was all he could allow himself. It was bad enough that he couldn't hide his affection during their lovemaking. He needed to be doubly sure to be cool during the day to make up for his weakness.