Harlequin Historical September 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Lord Havelock's List\Saved by the Viking Warrior\The Pirate Hunter (12 page)

‘You can be off,' he said to the waiters, without the slightest hint of self-consciousness. ‘I will serve my wife.'

She supposed people who worked in hotels must be used to having guests who wandered around half-dressed, at all hours of the day. Who'd very clearly spent most of the afternoon in bed. But she couldn't bring herself to look their way as they melted out of the room, dreading what she might see written in their faces.

‘You certainly look like a bride now,' said Lord Havelock, in a tone that had her lifting her head again. Just as she'd hoped, his eyes were gleaming with appreciation as they roamed her diaphanous gown.

‘How do you feel?'

Embarrassed. Rather foolish. Out of her depth, for trying to play the wanton, only to run aground on the shoals of slippery-eyed waiters.

He crossed the room to her, tilted her chin up with one finger and planted a brief kiss on her flaming cheek. And she no longer felt anything but aware of him, standing so close. His warm breath on her face. And the way he'd made her feel in the bed that was only a few faltering footsteps away.

But before she could summon up the words to express even a tithe of what she was feeling, her stomach rumbled. Rather loudly.

He grinned. ‘Hungry! Good. So am I. I hope you like what I've ordered,' he said, taking her hand and leading her across to the table the waiters had been so busy over just moments before.

‘It...it certainly all looks lovely,' she managed to stammer. The table had been set for two, with fine linen and sparkling crystal, delicate china and fresh flowers. The fire, she also noted, had been stoked up again so that the room was warm enough for them to sit about in a state of undress.

She was excruciatingly aware of his body now. Of exactly where it was and how it all felt. Whenever his legs so much as brushed against the hem of her nightgown, under the table, it brought back how they'd felt, pushing her own sleeker, softer legs apart. The muscles bunching and flexing as he'd...

He'd apparently lost the ability to talk, as well. In fact, the atmosphere reminded her very much of the time they'd striven in vain to make some sort of conversation over the supper table at the Crimmers'. Except that now it was charged with sexual awareness.

His as well as hers, she would stake her life on it.

He might be frowning as he spooned a helping of fricassee on to her plate, but it wasn't the frown of an angry man. She'd spent years studying her father, learning his moods in the faint hope she could avoid the worst of them. And that frown wasn't one of displeasure.

If anything, she would say he felt awkward. Though that was absurd! He'd wandered around earlier, ordering the waiters about as though it meant nothing....

But now they were alone.

And he'd readily admitted, that night at the Crimmers', that he didn't know how to converse freely with ladies.

Particularly not to ones he'd just married, apparently.

Perhaps it wasn't so surprising he'd got friends to help him compile a list when he'd decided he had to get married.

Perhaps she'd overreacted when she'd found and read it. He hadn't intended her to know he'd resorted to such lengths, after all.

And hadn't she already decided that she ought not to dwell on how this marriage had come about? But to just make the most of what they had?

And when it came right down to it, wouldn't she rather be married to him, with all his faults, than a glib-tongued man whose charm marked him down as a seasoned womaniser?

So she met his eye and gave him a tentative smile.

He smiled back, his shoulders dropping a good inch as some of his tension melted away.

I did that. I put him at ease.

Her aunt Pargetter had hinted that if their marriage was to be a happy one, it would be up to her. She hadn't seen how that could possibly be true, but already, today, she'd made a start. She could have flung the list at him when he returned from the lawyers and demanded an explanation, and an apology. She wouldn't have received one. Instead of making such wondrous love together, they would have had a fight. They wouldn't be sitting here, remembering how good it had been, and wondering when they could do it again, either. They would be at daggers drawn.

Not that she would ever let him treat her with such disrespect in future. She was
not
a mouse. And she had no intention of letting him turn her into one. The thought she might ever end up like her mother, too scared to draw a breath without the permission of her tyrannical husband, had almost made her cry off altogether.

Except that she'd seen Lord Havelock was nothing like her father. And they weren't eloping, in the face of opposition from both their families. They'd come together for very practical reasons.

Not that she felt very practical about him at this moment. Her mind was a whirling jumble of emotions and desire and, above all, hope.

All of a sudden, Lord Havelock broke into her musings by uttering an oath and throwing the serving spoon back into the dish with a clatter.

‘I should have taken you out to the theatre, or something, shouldn't I? Not kept you cooped up indoors all evening, with only me for company.'

And that was the nub of the matter. He wasn't an unkind man. Only a touch thoughtless.

And apparently willing to learn to do better.

‘It was just,' he said, seizing her hand across the table, his face screwed up with contrition, ‘that I'd planned on getting an early night.'

When she flushed, and dropped her head to gaze at her plate, she heard him chuckle.

‘Not because of
that
. Well, not only that. You see...' he gave her hand a slight squeeze ‘...we need to get on the road as early as we can, with the days being so short. I don't want you to have to put up at any of the inns on our way. And if we make an early enough start, providing we don't encounter any problems, we should be able to make it in one stage.'

‘Yes, I see. Well...um...' Her heart was pounding so hard she was amazed he couldn't hear it.

‘I...I don't mind having an early night,' she finally managed to confess, shooting him a coy look from under her eyelashes.

‘Well, yes, but that was before my patience ran out and I swept you off to bed the minute I got back from the lawyers. And...' He cleared his throat. ‘It probably isn't such a good idea to attempt... I mean...' He coughed. ‘You are probably a bit... That is, I've heard...' he flushed ‘...that the first time can leave a lady feeling a bit, um, sore.'

‘I don't feel sore.' What she did feel, had started to feel from the moment he'd hinted he wanted to take her again, was an ache. An ache that she knew only he could assuage. ‘You were so careful with me that I...'

‘I will be careful again,' he vowed, cutting her hesitant response off so swiftly, and with such fervour, that she could tell he wanted her as much as she wanted him.

It was the greatest compliment he could have paid her.

Holding both her hands in his, he looked straight into her eyes.

‘That is, if you want to... I mean, I don't expect you to...only hope that you...'

He pulled himself up straight, giving his head a little shake, then laughing ruefully.

‘Here's the thing. Lady Havelock, I would like to invite you to come to my room now, for an evening of...exploration, let's call it that. I'd like to find out what gives you pleasure. So if, at any time, anything I do causes you discomfort, you have only to tell me, and I will stop. And move on until we find something that you do enjoy. Will you...will you come with me?'

He wanted to spend the evening discovering what gave her pleasure?

How could she possibly refuse?

For one thing, he was only inviting her to do exactly what she'd wanted from the moment she'd woken up, naked, to find him standing over her.

For another, he'd warned her that this stage of their married life might not last long. One of them might take the other in dislike and then all this ardour would cool.

But most of all, only an idiot wouldn't make the most of having a man like Lord Havelock take her to bed.

And she most certainly wasn't an idiot.

* * *

It was still dark when the porter came next morning with hot water for her husband to wash. She slid as far beneath the blankets as she could, until he'd gone, then flung back the covers with grim determination and sashayed across the room to pick up her robe, which was lying in a scarlet puddle by the door.

‘I will go to my own room to wash and dress,' she said as she plunged her arms into the sleeves and fumbled for the sash. It was all very well, she'd discovered, attempting to flout his hope she would behave modestly, but she really didn't have the stomach for it.

From his bank of pillows, her husband stretched and gave her a lazy smile.

‘I will meet you back in the sitting room. They'll be setting out breakfast in there, so you might want to, um...' He indicated the neckline of the robe, which was revealing rather more of her than she'd like.

She gripped the edges close over her throat, leaving the room to the sound of her husband's throaty chuckle.

It didn't take her long to wash and dress.

* * *

‘You'd better make the most of this,' he said, indicating the array of dishes set out on the table when she joined him. ‘I won't be making long stops on the way, if I can avoid it. Besides, none of the inns I've ever tried on the way to Mayfield can offer anything half so good.'

Mary dipped her head as she sat down. How could he be talking in such a matter-of-fact way when she was feeling so...so awkward? So vulnerable? Didn't he care?

Or hadn't he noticed how hard this was for her?

Though perhaps that was for the best. After all, she'd vowed he would never have cause to think of her as a mouse.

And anyway, he was at least explaining his reasons for making the travelling arrangements the way he had. Which sounded as though he was looking out for her, in his own way.

She sat up a little straighter and began to nibble at a slice of toast while he demolished a vast quantity of steak and eggs, and ale and coffee. Lord, but he had a healthy appetite.

In more ways than one. She flushed as her mind flew back to the boundless energy he'd displayed the night before. The inventiveness, and the patience, and the amazing stamina...

He looked up and caught her looking at him in a sort of sexual haze. His fork faltered halfway to his mouth.

‘Eat up,' he said gruffly. ‘You need to keep your strength up. It will be a long and arduous day, and after such a long and...energetic night...'

She lowered her head and slid a mound of fluffy scrambled egg on to her fork. It wasn't easy to sit at table with a man who'd had his hands and mouth all over her. She knew this was what married people did—and quite a few people who weren't married, too—but how did they hold conversations, as though they hadn't done the most shocking things to each other under cover of darkness?

She raised the fork to her mouth. As she parted her lips, her husband gave a strange, choking sort of sigh. When she raised her eyes to his in enquiry, she saw him looking at her lips. His fingers were clenched tightly round his own fork, which hadn't travelled any nearer to his own mouth.

So he wasn't as unaffected by their night of intimacy as she'd at first thought. With a little inward smile, she reached for her cup and took a delicate sip of tea, shooting him what she hoped was a saucy look over the rim as she drank. The look he sent her back was heated enough to make her toes curl.

* * *

It kept her warm for the rest of the morning. As did his constant care for her comfort. Though he'd warned her that the journey was likely to be arduous, she found it the least unpleasant she'd ever undertaken. For one thing, she was sitting in a comfortable post-chaise, swathed in travelling furs with a hot brick at her feet, next to a man she...really liked. A man who kept her entertained with a fund of anecdotes about adventures he'd had whilst travelling this route before. It was a far cry from being cooped up inside the common stage with a bunch of malodorous strangers. Then again, wherever they stopped, the landlords gave him swift and respectful service. No waiting around in draughty public rooms, suffering rude stares and coarse remarks. They made good speed and dusk was only just descending into true night by the time their carriage swept through the gates of what he told her was to be her new home.

‘I am sorry you cannot see very much of it,' he said as they bounced up a lengthy drive. ‘I will show you around tomorrow. The horses should have settled in by then. I had them sent on ahead, by easy stages, the minute I knew we'd be coming down.'

She turned, slowly, and looked at him. He'd sent his horses by easy stages, but pushed her to make the journey in one day?

Just when she'd made allowances for him writing that dreadful list, he...he...

She drew in a deep breath, grappling with the wave of hurt that had almost made her lash out at him. She would
not
take his casual remark about his horses as a sign he didn't care about her. Hadn't he proved that, in his own way, he did? As he'd related all those tales about adventures he'd had in the posting inns on the way here, she'd seen
exactly
why he hadn't wanted her staying at any of them.

She'd got to stop looking for signs that he was going to turn out to be just like her father.

‘There are some decent rides on the estate itself, but we can hack across country if you like, see a bit of the surrounding area, too. You'll want to know where the nearest town is, get the lie of the land, and so forth....'

‘Oh, no,' she said, lifting her chin. ‘I cannot ride.'

‘You cannot ride?' He looked thunderstruck. And then crestfallen. And then resigned.

Funny, but she'd never noticed what an expressive face he had before. He'd warned her he was blunt, but not that he was incapable of hiding his feelings.