Chapter Fifteen #2
And already she missed Tom and Lucy, and even Cyclops, the one-eyed cat. The feline would be able to fend for himself, but she worried nonetheless, and her spirits sank even lower at the knowledge that none of them needed her anymore.
Once dressed in a more demure version of her wedding night garment, Kate walked to the connecting door to Grayson’s room. She had no key to lock it, of course, so she tucked one of the shield-backed chairs under the handle.
It wouldn’t hold indefinitely, but the makeshift bolt would tell him that he was not welcome. Let him complain about her presence in his bed, then, Kate thought, but her triumph was bitter, and when she slid between the cold sheets, she lay awake for a long time.
Married two days, and while most people would still be celebrating, she felt more alone and miserable than she ever had in her life.
Grayson had no interest in visiting White’s.
He went simply to prove that he could, that he was a normal man in control of his actions and his body—and because he knew that if he looked across the table at his wife any longer, he would have seized her right there, disregarding both the servants and her own weariness.
He had hoped to distract himself from the woman who seemed to have taken over his life by joining some deep play, for he always gave his complete concentration to the tables.
But before he could reach his destination, he was hailed by several acquaintances demanding to know where he had been for the past few weeks and whether the rumor of his engagement was true.
The announcement that he had already wed raised some eyebrows, and Grayson could have cursed his normally facile tongue. For what man would be at White’s, instead of enjoying his marital rights, so soon after the ceremony, unless his wife was a hatchet-faced she-dragon?
Grayson’s mouth tightened, for he would hold with no talk about his wife. Deferring any questions with a cold gaze, he sent all but the most tenacious scurrying back to their own business.
“Wroth! Here now, Smythe, let me through, will you? I’ve need of private conversation with our newly married man,” drawled Raleigh, waving a languid hand, as if to brush aside the others.
Although Grayson was accustomed to holding court and fielding difficult queries, Raleigh’s antics were a welcome diversion, perhaps because, for once, Grayson was not entirely comfortable with the topic under discussion.
In arrogant dismissal of the others, Grayson followed Raleigh to a pair of chairs in a secluded corner and let the viscount call for a bottle of champagne, even though he was in no mood to celebrate.
He would have preferred something more substantial, but when Raleigh lifted his glass, Grayson joined him, swallowing the bubbly liquid with a grimace.
“I understand that congratulations are in order,” the viscount said, lounging back in his seat. Grayson was not fooled by the careless pose, for he was well aware of Raleigh’s studied gaze. “Did you bring her with you to London?”
The question both surprised and annoyed Grayson. “Of course, I brought her,” he said. “Did you think I would leave her buried in the country?”
Raleigh shrugged and took a sip of champagne, eyeing him over the rim of his glass. “I don’t know what to think of a man who’s dallying at his club a day after his wedding.”
Instead of facing down his friend, Grayson let his gaze slide away, for Raleigh’s perception had surprised him more than once. He did not care to admit why he was here or how the need for Kate drove him, consuming him.
He had thought to vanquish it in bed, but it had only grown stronger, until he ran from it, as he had nothing in his life.
For the first time in his assured existence, Grayson felt a coward, and although he did not like the sensation, he refused to be dependent upon anyone for anything, including Kate.
“Where is she, then?”
Raleigh’s soft question brought Grayson from his sober thoughts, and he shot the viscount a sharp look. “At the town house. In bed.”
“Alone?” Raleigh asked, with a casual flicker of interest.
Grayson tensed and strained to keep himself seated when he wanted to lunge for Raleigh’s throat. “Alone.”
Raleigh shrugged again, as if unaware of the dangerous ground he was treading.
“But for how much longer, I wonder,” he mused, swirling his champagne.
“A beautiful woman like that let loose in London, and ton marriages being what they are…” With a sardonic look, he let his words trail off, allowing Grayson’s imagination free rein.
Grayson knew damn well that most lords and ladies changed lovers as often as they bathed, but he had never intended his union to be like that. He planned to be faithful and expected the same of his wife, and he did not care to be likened to those he held in contempt.
“Do not compare anything I do with that of my contemporaries, lest I take insult,” Grayson warned. “If I wanted that sort of arrangement, I never would have chosen Kate.”
“Really?” Raleigh invested the single word with a world of skepticism.
“Then I suggest you do not leave the lady alone very often or you will have to wade through a crowd simply to get to your rooms. As soon as the male population of London discovers she is available, they will stumble all over each other wanting to be the first to cuckold the great marquess.”
Grayson’s fingers tightened around his glass.
“Of course, that is not to say that they won’t want her for her beauty. She is lovely. Refreshing. Untouched, so to speak. Yes, she will be a prize, not only for the first, but to the very last of the lovers she will take.”
The crystal snapped in Grayson’s hand. “There will be no lovers,” he said through gritted teeth. He dropped the pieces of glass to the floor and wiped his hand with a handkerchief. A cut on his palm oozed blood, and he wrapped it.
“Lud, you’ve hurt yourself. Demmed shoddy cups!
” Raleigh said, calling for a servant. “Now, where were we? Ah, yes! But the only couples I know who confine their favors to each other are those bound not just by vows, but by love.” Raleigh paused to beard him with a knowing gaze that mocked his fierce one. “Do you love her?”
Grayson did not deign to answer, for Raleigh had gone beyond the bounds of their friendship. Rarely was he questioned, and, certainly, never taunted. No one dared.
His immediate inclination was to punch the affected little twit in his handsome face. Instead, he simply turned and walked away, a restlessness driving him away from the viscount, away from the tables, away from the club.
Kate. Kate. Kate. Like some primitive music, her name thrummed through his blood in time with his heart, even though he refused to consider the significance.
Kate was still awake when she heard Grayson enter his room.
Although she turned away from the sounds, she could imagine him tossing his coat upon a chair, tugging at his neckcloth, removing his shirt…
Her vast room suddenly seemed close and hot, and Kate threw off the blanket she had been clutching tightly.
Gradually, quiet descended once more, but it brought her no relief.
Was he in bed? Was he naked? Kate rolled over, the soft feather mattress acquiring lumps as she fought off visions of Grayson without his clothes.
Unfortunately, she remembered his body all too well and conjured it easily in her mind, golden with candlelight, dark and enticing.
Rattle. Kate stiffened as the handle of the door between their rooms turned. Thump. It caught upon the chair she had anchored there. Although she had constructed the makeshift lock in an attempt to keep him out, she had never really planned for him to discover it.
She had thought he would stay out carousing with his London friends until the wee hours, then fall into bed alone. Had he not objected to her presence there?
Yet, here he was, home early and trying to reach her. Would he take the hint and give up? Not likely, for Grayson never allowed his plans to be thwarted. The ensuing silence was rather eerie, and Kate held her breath.
She stared at the other entrance off the narrow hall, wondering if he would come through it or return to the entertainments awaiting him in Town. And she did not know which resolution to hope for as she waited.
Crash! Kate flinched as the chair she had wedged beneath the door handle flew into the air and the door itself banged violently against the wall. In the aftermath stood Grayson, a tall, dark figure filling the threshold with a vague menace that made her shiver.
“Are you trying to keep me out, poppet?” The low velvet purr of his voice, so at odds with his recent violence, reminded her just how dangerous he was, but Kate would not quail before him. She sat up straight, the massive headboard behind her, and lifted her chin.
“You complained of my presence in your bed this morning.”
“Did I? How gauche of me,” Grayson replied, stepping into the room.
He wore a long robe of dark silk that moved when he walked, falling in soft folds over his hard body, and Kate swallowed at his approach.
He stopped beside her, and the sight of him, shadowy in the dying firelight, made her throat go dry.
“In the future, you will sleep with me. Always,” he said, in a harsh tone that hinted at a deeper meaning. “Now, be a good wife and help me out of this.”
It was a challenge. Kate knew that, but the great Wroth had capitulated. What more could she expect?
The misery of London and a house full of strangers faded under the heat of his gaze, and Kate slowly rose to her knees before him. Her fingers trembled as she untied the knot at his waist and the robe fell free to reveal his broad chest, its dusting of hair leading downward.
Reaching up, she slid the silk from his shoulders and let it fall down his body in a sensuous glide. Then she pressed kisses to his chest, ran her palms across the crisp curls, touching him as freely as she had always wanted to do, and nipped at the hard muscles that covered his ribs.
“Hmm. Biting me again, are you?” he asked, reminding her of their original encounter in the study below.
How could he speak? How could he think? Kate’s mind was dazed, her limbs like jelly, yet he stood before her, controlled and steady. Obviously, she would have to change her tactics. Trailing her kisses downward, Kate dipped her tongue into his navel and touched him.
She knew a sense of triumph at the swift intake of his breath, but soon he lifted the hem of her nightgown and drew it up slowly. Then, tossing the garment aside, he pushed her back upon the bed and moved over her.
“Don’t lock me out, Kate. Don’t ever lock me out.” The words, uttered in a hoarse whisper, were both a warning and a plea. But before she could answer, Grayson took her face in his hands and drew her mouth up to his.
It seemed to Kate that he kissed each inch of her: her eyelids, behind her ear, the pulse that throbbed at her wrist, the arch of her foot, her ankle, and the soft spot behind her knee.
His lips were everywhere, moist and hot, finally settling upon that most intimate of places, his tongue claiming mastery over her senses.
Grasping the sheets in a tortured grip, Kate cried out his name and wondered how she could ever deny him.