Wagered to the Duke (BookStrand Publishing Romance) (19 page)

“I had every reason to believe he was beating her to death!”

He offered her a crooked smile. “I concur it certainly sounded that way, but I promise you that is not what he was doing. Must I spell it out to you? They were engaged in c-a-r-n-a-l n-o-w-l-e-d-g-e.”

She stared at him for a moment with wrinkled brow, obviously putting the letters together in her head, before saying, “I believe you left out the
k
.”

Did he? He’d take her word for it. “Then you understand what they were doing.”

She looked thoroughly—and, he thought—adorably appalled. “
That’s
what they were doing?”

“Yes,
that.
She’s fine and very much alive. You don’t hear her screaming now, do you?”

“Maybe that’s because she’s already dead.”

He chuckled softly. “Katherine, Katherine. Here you are, eight and twenty, and yet you really don’t know what happens between men and women.”

“At least I know how to spell it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m just a plain old spinster who’s never been courted by anyone.”

A plain old spinster? Hardly. Certainly not now. Nathan could scarcely take his eyes off her as he reveled in the sight of her damp shift clinging to every curve of her body. To think this was what lurked beneath her heavy wool pelisse and shapeless frock! He clearly saw the outline of her small but delicately upright breasts, with pink nipples threatening to poke holes in the flimsy fabric. A dark, triangular smudge drew his gaze to the juncture between her thighs, and he felt a heated stirring in his own juncture. To his amusement, she seemed too transfixed by the sight of his bare chest to realize he was seeing parts of her she probably didn’t want him to see.

Or did she?

Finally, he said, “Have you no idea why husbands and wives share the same bed? How babies come about?”

“Yes, I do know that, but that’s not what it sounded like they were doing.”

“And how do you know what it sounds like?”

“I don’t. But surely it’s not supposed to sound like
that
.”

“It’s not. At least it shouldn’t, if the woman knows what to expect, and if the man knows what to do. Obviously Mrs. Driscoll’s mother didn’t have a little talk with her daughter about what to expect this evening, while Mr. Driscoll didn’t seem to put much effort into—well, preparing her in such a way that she would’ve been less likely to scream.” His eyes bored into hers, and not for the first time he marveled at the paleness of those green irises burnished with silver that gleamed in the candlelight as they stared at his chest.

She sighed. “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

“Don’t apologize to
me.
At least now I won’t have to sleep in a chair down in the taproom or parlor. I wasn’t especially looking forward to it.” Besides, Nathan wouldn’t have missed the sight of her now for all the world. “The innkeeper mentioned that every so often he hosts newlyweds like the Driscolls. And sometimes he hosts newlyweds who are the exact opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

How Nathan would love to show her! “Do you really want me to tell you?”

She did not take her eyes away from him. She briefly pressed her lips together, forming a pink rosebud that he longed to open with his own lips, and then she parted them to say, “Yes.”

“Then let’s climb into bed, and I’ll tell you.”

Looking suddenly and rightly mortified, she plopped down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t think sharing a bed is a good idea.”

“I know you don’t.” Casting a glance at the thin wall dividing them from the Driscolls, he added, “But if we want everyone to think we’re husband and wife, then we’re expected to do so.”

She was about to lift her legs as if to place her entire self on the mattress, but just when Nathan thought he might catch an unveiled glimpse of her womanhood, she dropped her feet back to the floor again and clamped her knees together.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I have nothing to wear to bed.” She gazed down at her shift. “I can’t wear this, for it’s damp. I was going to wring out a few things in the washbowl when—well, when I was suddenly distracted.”

Nathan smiled as he thought of just how distracted she must have been by what happened on the other side of the wall, where all was now quiet.

“You could wear one of my shirts,” he suggested. “Let me pull one out of my trunk.”

She stood up and turned around so he could no longer see her front, and then she squeezed between him and the bed to reach the screen in the corner. Her exquisitely curved derriere brushed against his erection, and it was all he could do not to groan in delight.

She paused, still keeping her back to him. “What was that?”

He didn’t move. “What was what?”

She shook her head and beelined for the screen. “Never mind. I’m sure it was nothing.”

He bent over to unlock his trunk. “I’m sure it was not nothing, or you wouldn’t have asked. It must have been something—something big enough for you to inquire what it might be.”

She ducked behind the screen. “I thought it was you, but maybe it was just the doorknob.”

He surveyed the doorknob as he started to unfasten his breeches. “But I was between you and the doorknob. So you must have felt something else.”

“What are you doing?”

He glanced her way. She was peering over the top edge of the screen, her eyes widening a little more with each button he popped. “I’m removing my breeches, of course. You’ve already seen me without them. Perhaps you’d care to compare me to the doorknob?”

She put her head down. “Perhaps you’d prefer to fetch me a nightshirt.”

That wasn’t what he’d prefer at all. He preferred to feel the silken smoothness of her naked body against his. To explore what he’d seen through her damp shift.

To think that only last night, he would have preferred to put her on the next stage back to York and never see her again. Now…

Now he resolved to keep her with him—at least until they reached London and she could be reunited with her brother. But then what? Would she still be safe from Waldrop? Nathan couldn’t help feeling he was the only one who could protect her from Waldrop, if only because he knew better than anyone what the rogue was capable of.

Of course, that was assuming her stepfather
had
wagered her to Waldrop, but Nathan didn’t want to take a chance assuming otherwise.

And he didn’t really want to think about it right now. All he wanted to think about was what might happen next with the two of them in the same bed. He opened his trunk. “You do realize I don’t wear nightshirts.”

“I do indeed, but I’m afraid we can’t share the same bed if you’re not going to wear anything.”

“But I don’t like wearing anything to bed.” Just as he didn’t like the idea of her wearing anything to bed. Not after what he’d just glimpsed.

“Don’t you worry about catching cold?”

He smiled as he rummaged through the trunk. “I surely won’t worry about it tonight, with your warmth right next to mine.”

The damp shift flopped over the edge of the screen. She was now naked behind it. A shard of desire bolted into his already throbbing groin as he saw bare shoulders he longed to caress and kiss. Wisps and tendrils of golden-brown hair, most of it still crammed into a bun, hung loosely around her face. Her large, earnest eyes reminded him of green Scottish hills reflected in a silver Scottish loch. He glanced away and concentrated on pulling out a shirt. How was he ever going to get through this night without—

“Surely the innkeeper has a bundling board we could use?”

He straightened up as he unfurled the shirt. “A what?”

“A bundling board. Haven’t you ever heard of bundling?”

“Now that you mention it, I believe I have. Some old-fashioned courtship ritual in which the man gets sewn into a bag as if he’s about to be buried at sea, while the woman lies next to him with a board between them. I suppose I can see the appeal it would have to someone like you. I imagine you’d find it less cumbersome than a chastity belt.”

She stretched her naked arm over the screen to take the proffered shirt. “What do you mean, someone like me?”

“Someone who thinks I must want to kill her if only I can escape the bundling bag, break down the bundling board, and bundle her into my wicked embrace.” He grinned.

She frowned as she pulled the shirt over her head, stretching her arms just enough to tease him with a glimpse of the tops of her breasts. If only she stood on tiptoe…

He had to stop thinking of her that way, especially if he was to get through the night without touching her.

She pulled down the shirt, and with it a few more strands of hair with loose hairpins dangling everywhere. “I thought most inns usually have bundling boards not for some old-fashioned courtship ritual, but to allow strangers to share the same mattress when there’s a shortage of available beds. And if you’re the frugal type, it means you need only pay for half a bed instead of a whole bed.”

Nathan stepped out of his breeches. “Husbands and wives do not bundle. Nonetheless, I shall respect your modesty by keeping my small clothes on and sleeping with my back to you.”

“Thank you,” she said as she stepped out from behind the screen, keeping her eyes downcast, and he thought he knew why.

While her shift had fallen well below her knees, the hem of his shirt hovered far above them, revealing pale, slim legs with gently curved calves. He closed the lid of his trunk then sat on the edge of the bed to watch as she stood before the washstand and plucked out all her hairpins, allowing him to see, for the first time, her golden-brown tresses in all their natural glory.

But that wasn’t all. As she lifted her arms over her head, he caught a glimpse—just the merest, tiniest glimpse—of the delicately curved underside of her derriere.

It took all his strength to suppress the moan in his throat.

Her hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall of warm honey. As she picked up a hairbrush and began vigorously brushing, he thought of what she would look like doing that while in the nude.

Then he would be able to see her sweet backside in its entirety—two plump, pink slices of flesh, like a pair of ripe peaches. Brushing…stroking…her arms back and over her head, offering him a clear view of her pointed, pink-tipped breasts—that is, if she happened to turn away from the mirror.

“Did you say something?” she asked, startling him out of his erotic musings as she turned away from the mirror to look at him, the shirt covering her breasts.

“Not a word.”

She turned back to the mirror. “I thought I heard you say something—or at least make some sort of noise.”

“I must have been clearing my throat,” he said lamely, wondering now if he really had moaned. Or groaned. Or—

“Why must you watch me?” She continued brushing her hair, smoothing out the tangles, following through with her fingers, something Nathan longed to do himself.

“What else do you suggest I watch?” he asked. “Should I just stare at the ceiling?”

“You could do that. Or you could just burrow under the covers and go to sleep.”

“I’m waiting for you. I thought you should take the side of the bed closest to the wall, while I’ll take the side closest to the door, in case some madwoman out in the hallway happens to break it down because she thinks I’m beating you to death with a bundling board.”

It was hard to tell in the dim candlelight, but as he glimpsed her face in the small mirror, he thought he saw the ghost of a smile quivering around the corner of her mouth.

“You’ll never let me live that down, will you?”

“I’m afraid it’s still quite fresh in my memory, since it happened barely half an hour ago.”

“Well, you needn’t sit up and wait for me. I can just climb over you.”

Since he could still watch her while lying under the covers, he took his place in the bed as she started twisting her hair around in several thick strands. It took a moment for him to realize that she was braiding her hair.

His heart dipped with disappointment. He’d been hoping for a chance to stroke his hands through its thick length after she went to sleep—or even before, if only she’d let him.

But she wouldn’t, because she shouldn’t, just as he knew he shouldn’t, either. Still…

“Why do you continue to watch me?” Ire tinged her voice, only it didn’t sound like genuine ire. It sounded like affected ire. Flirtatious ire. Ire that would indeed be genuine if he turned over and went right to sleep.

“For that matter, why do
you
continue to watch
me
?”
he countered. “Shouldn’t you be paying more attention to your braiding, and less to checking whether I’m watching you?”

“I can braid my hair without looking,” she said airily.

“Maybe I’m looking at you because you’re looking at me. Did that ever occur to you?”

Now she concentrated on her braid. “I don’t believe that’s why you’re looking at me.”

“Well, I think I know why you keep looking at me. You only want to make certain I’m still watching, for it would vex you greatly if I didn’t watch you at all.”

She let go of the braid with a silent snap and whirled around to glower at him. “If I wanted you to watch me, do you really think I’d keep asking why you’re watching me?”

A bubble of laughter welled up inside of him. “Yes.”

Her braid was slowly untwisting, and she grabbed it again. “Explain yourself, sir.”

“For starters, you keep asking why I’m watching you.”

“If I keep asking you, it’s because I have yet to receive a satisfactory answer.”

“Precisely. And answering that it’s because my only alternative is to stare at the ceiling is evidently not satisfactory to you.”

“Indeed it’s not.”

“But I have yet to hear you order me outright, or even politely request me, to stop watching you. You haven’t said, ‘Sir, would you please stop watching me?’ or ‘Sir, I insist you stop watching me this instant!’ either of which might have won you immediate compliance. Oh, no! Instead you keep asking, ‘Why are you watching me? Why do you keep watching me? Why don’t you watch something else?’ and clearly you intend to keep asking until I give you a response—perhaps
the
response, as I suspect there’s only one—you deem satisfactory.”