Gabriel: Lord of Regrets (12 page)

“Goddamn it, Polonaise…” His whisper was harsh, guttural, and drenched in erotic pleasure. He might have said her name again, more than once, as he gave in to the sensations swamping him. This wasn’t intercourse, but it was still his Polonaise, and it was more intense pleasure than one man could sanely bear.

“You… are… a… menace.” Fraught moments later, he was still whispering, trying to catch his breath in the aftermath of a bodily cataclysm, his hand in her hair, her head pillowed low on his stomach, and her fingers still wrapped around him. “You can let go.”

“Hush.” She swiped her tongue over the head of his cock, and he felt it from his toes to the ends of his
hair
. “I won’t hurt you.”

“No more,” he managed. “I mean it.”

She subsided onto his stomach and nuzzled him, a sense of smugness radiating from her.

“You’re pleased with yourself,” he accused, stroking his hand over her hair.

“Are you complaining?”

“Yes.” He tried to sit up, but Polly stayed where she was, her head against his belly. “You aren’t supposed to be so… accommodating, Polonaise. Not in such intimate particulars.”

“I’m supposed to tease and withhold and play stupid games?”

“You’re supposed to leave me a little something to work for,” he suggested. “And as to that…”

“Yes?” She turned loose of him and rolled over to stare up at him, her gaze trying to hide a hint of uncertainty.

“I loved it,” he said simply. “I adore you, and I love that you’re so generous and curious and bold. I don’t deserve it. I came here thinking to dally, yes, but when you’re tired and uncertain, I’m the one who’s supposed to be spoiling you.”

“You aren’t truly upset?”

“Yes, I’m truly upset.” What the hell was he saying? He grabbed a handkerchief from the night table and shoved it at her to use on her fingers. “No, I’m not, but I will be if you don’t let me hold you.”

“We can’t…” She pushed up, frowning right back at him.

Gabriel snatched the linen from her, swabbed at his belly, then pitched the handkerchief to the floor. “Hang we can’t.” He pulled her to him and settled down on his side, so he was spooned around her. “We won’t, though, because you deserve perfection, and I can’t offer it tonight.”

“Because you’ve used up your powder and shot.”

“Because you’re tired and not inclined to dispense any further favors, which is likely the only reason I will live to see the morning. You are not, however, supposed to know about making a naughty dessert of my intimate person.”

“I have ever been fond of sweets.” She rubbed her cheek against his biceps. “Perhaps I’ll have seconds. This naughtiness is the only thing I’ve seen render you speechless.”

“Witless,” he corrected her. “I recall babbling the entire time.”

“Details.”

“Cross, despite being capable of great generosity,” he concluded when she tucked his hand against her middle. “Onto your belly, that I might be generous too.”

He stroked his hand over the elegant architecture of her back, let it wander into her hair, and down over the lush curve of her derriere, paying special attention to the base of her skull.

“I hate that you hurt.” And he didn’t refer to only an inchoate headache. “How long ago were you told you were barren?”

“I was young. It was most of a decade ago.”

“And were you examined by a physician or just a midwife?”

“Midwife, and she knew what she was about. You don’t have to do that, you know.”

Yes, he did. He had to cherish her every way she would allow it. “You like it, and I’m on reconnaissance for when I have my revenge on you.”

“I’m aquiver with fear.”

“One senses your abject terror.” He kissed her again, a glancing buss to her cheek. “Go to sleep, love.”

“You too,” she murmured, scooting closer.

“You want me to stay, Polonaise?”

“Hmm.”

“Beg pardon?”

She said something more, which sounded like the single word “forever,” though Gabriel knew that couldn’t possibly have been what she’d meant.

***

“What does that mean, Margie? You want me?” Aaron’s voice didn’t shake but his hand nearly did as it swept slowly down her hair.

“Mama will try to see me wed to your brother.” She shuddered beneath his hand. “I can’t bear it, and you mustn’t allow it.”

“If she succeeds in invalidating our marriage,” Aaron surmised, “you will be forced back into Gabriel’s arms, so to speak. You’d have me spare you that?”

“Of course I want to be spared that,” she wailed softly. “He’s a stranger to me, and you’re… you’re my husband.”

“A stranger to you? You were engaged to him for fifteen years, weren’t you? And from the circumstances apparent when you wed me, you and Gabriel were cordial enough.”

He was being mean, and it wasn’t well done of him. He stroked his hand over her hair, more slowly, more gently.

“Of course we were cordial.” Marjorie rubbed her cheek against his lapel, like a cat getting comfortable. “When he recalled he had a fiancée. But he isn’t… he isn’t you.”

Three words, but they gave Aaron an odd, reluctant sort of hope.

“You don’t need me to spike your mama’s guns. Gabriel has all but promised me he won’t have you. He wants us to have children, in fact.”

“He does?” She tilted her head back to study him. “He told you that?”

“Cheeky of him, if you ask me.” Aaron shifted her closer on his lap. “Gabriel has never lacked for audacity when it gains him his own ends.”

“Sometimes, Aaron, you sound as if you don’t like your brother very much.”

“Sometimes I hate him, though it’s easier to like the man when he hasn’t given his life to see me safely sent back home.”

“You blamed yourself for his death,” Marjorie said. “One sensed this, in the grim way you went about the estate business. Often, I used to think were it not for Gabriel’s death, or the way he died—”

“What?” Aaron gathered up her long blond hair and brought a rose-scented strand to his nose. “What did you used to think, Margie Wendover?”

“You like the estate work. The part where you solve problems and spend hours on horseback and listen to all the tenants.”

“They mostly want to gripe about the weather, or the price of corn, or about George. Simply listening isn’t difficult.” So why had he spent so little time listening to his wife?

“But you didn’t let yourself enjoy it, because of the guilt.”

She fell silent, though her words had the ring of insight to them, and he had to allow she was right. He’d punished himself for months, thinking Gabriel was dead because of him, hoping he was wrong, but not knowing.

“I still resent him.” A man should be able to safely admit such a thing to his wife.

“Which makes two of us.”

Aaron twined her hair around his finger, pleased with her response.

“Mama was content to carp at me over the need for an heir. I could have stood years of that more easily than her latest queer start. Why do you resent Gabriel now? Is it you who wants the title?”

“Hardly. I resent him for not trusting me. He saved my worthless hide in Spain, bullying the doctors, hiring decent nurses, and keeping the damned surgeons from bleeding me nigh to death, and after all of that, he thought I’d repay him by snatching his title, his bride, and his wealth.” He tickled his nose with her hair, and wished he might tickle her too.

“He was very ill, Aaron. Maybe he didn’t know what to think, and you did benefit from his death, at least in the eyes of the world.”

“Do you think I plotted and schemed to be where I am?”

“For God’s sake, Aaron.” She sat up in his lap, and he missed the feel of her like… like the calves missed their mamas the first night after weaning. “I was there when you had to be all but hauled up the church aisle by a press gang. I was there when my father all but called you out for not honoring the betrothal in place of your brother. You didn’t want this, and you would never scheme to hurt your brother. Never.”

He was silent for a long time, playing with her hair and wondering why it should mean something that she trusted him when his own brother hadn’t. Aaron had been in Spain with Gabriel; he’d had both motive and opportunity.

But the wife he’d ignored for two years believed in his innocence.

“Let me light you up to bed.” He patted her hip, and she blushed.

“You’ll fight Mama?”

“If it comes to that, I will, and it won’t be pretty, Margie. You’ve chosen your side, you know, and she can keep your brothers and sisters from you, poison the well of gossip, and make your life hell.”

“No, she can’t.” Marjorie slid off his lap. “Hell would be spending the rest of my life married to Gabriel when he’s not who or what I want.”

“If you say so.” He bent to light a single candle and winged his arm at her, then walked with her to her door, which was right down the corridor from his.

“Thank you.” She glanced up at him uncertainly as he reached past her to open her door.

“Let’s make sure your candles are lit,” he said, because her sitting room was in shadows. Her fire was blazing, though, so he lit a few candles and offered her a bow. “Pleasant dreams.”

“To you as well, and… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He ran one finger down the golden wealth of her hair, curled his hand around a gleaming skein, and tugged her one step closer. “Maybe, when this whole issue of our vows is behind us…”

He stopped, unwilling to say more. But she must have read his mind, because she went up on her toes and kissed his cheek, then disappeared into her bedroom without another word.

***

Gabriel bounced into the breakfast parlor, his mood blessedly at variance with the sullen chill of the day. “Are the women still abed?”

“They’ve come and gone,” Aaron said, setting his paper aside. “Try the eggs. I think Marjorie had a word with Cook.”

“I thought your marchioness took a tray in the morning.” Gabriel scooped up a large serving of eggs, added toast, bacon, and an orange, then sat at his brother’s elbow.

“She’s sometimes up early to ride.” Aaron shifted his chair a few inches away.

“Not on a morning like this.” Gabriel gestured toward the window with a toast point then started on his breakfast. “Ah, cheese in the eggs, and perhaps a touch of oregano, or… something.”

“You approve?”

“Of course,” Gabriel said between bites of what he was sure was Polly’s omelet recipe. “And the toast isn’t simply day-old bread, it’s got… onions or chives, and sesame things on it.”

“Sesame things?”

“Seeds. Are you going to stare that teapot into submission or pour a cup for your dear older brother?”

Aaron poured, a grin quirking his lips. He added cream and sugar, and pushed the cup toward Gabriel’s plate. “Marjorie has made up her mind.”

Gabriel paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Send a notice to the
Times
. Regarding?”

“She wants to remain married to my humble self.”

“A woman of sense and discernment. Pass the salt, would you?”

“A woman of sense would marry the titleholder.” Aaron pushed the saltcellar toward his brother.

“Not if she’s Marjorie,” Gabriel retorted. “She’d no more enjoy going up to Town for the opening of Parliament or for the Season than you would. She’s choosing to be your wife over my marchioness, and I’d say that’s the better choice.”

“I like Town well enough.” Aaron was back to staring at the teapot. “Or I used to.”

“We grow up.” Gabriel sprinkled a mere touch of salt on his eggs. “Or we do if we’re lucky.”

“It’s not that.” Aaron looked like he meant to leave it at that, but his mouth kept forming words. “I can’t very well be paying coin for what my wife would offer for free, not when I know how offended she’d be.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows rose over a mouthful of eggs—ambrosial eggs. He set down his fork and patted his lips with his napkin.

“They aren’t just offended,” Gabriel said. “They’re
hurt
when we do stupid, selfish things, like visit the whorehouse though we love our wives.”

Aaron turned his stare on his brother. “You have a wife now, to be handing down such serious pronouncements?”

“I do not. I’d best not have aspirations in that direction until I figure out who wanted me dead—or wants me dead.”

“Because it wasn’t me, and I benefited. Who else benefited?”

“I don’t know.” Gabriel swirled his teacup, which, if he wasn’t mistaken, held a particularly delicate gunpowder he was quite fond of. “I wish to hell I did, and it’s not for lack of thinking it through. Are you free this morning?”

“I am.”

“Then I want to go over your estate book and make sure I understand all you’ve written.”

“What a penance on a dreary damned day.” Aaron rose and went to the window. “I never meant that book to be a public record. I just started writing things down.”

“It’s useful,” Gabriel said, attending to the food on his plate. “I don’t doubt you wish his late lordship had kept something similar when you took over the reins two years ago, but Papa wasn’t much of one for bookkeeping.”

“He wasn’t?”

“God, no.” Gabriel poured himself another cup of tea. “He’d far rather be out mucking around in some drainage ditch or walking a colicky yearling than at his desk.”

“You’re sure of this?”

“I’m the one he dragged around for entire summers to every clogged drain, silted-up pond, flooded field, and sagging cow byre on the property.” And why did Gabriel now consider them some of his best memories of his father?

“You two were in each other’s company a lot.” Aaron appropriated the orange from Gabriel’s plate. “You three—George was usually in attendance.”

“For which, God be thanked.” Gabriel downed his entire cup of tea in less than two swallows. “George could talk Papa into stopping in for a pint, or at least hopping some stiles on the way home.”

“Were they close?”

“As close as a titled, distant cousin can be to his steward,” Gabriel decided. “I don’t really know what their relationship was. I was usually interested in flirting with the barmaids or being first to gallop up the drive.”

Aaron was tearing the skin from the orange at a great rate. “Were you serious yesterday when you asked me to design a bathing chamber?”