Jacquie D'Alessandro (32 page)

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he spoke. “You’ve presented everything in your usual clear, concise manner, but there are still three questions I’d like to ask you—if you have no objections.”

“Of course.”

“My first question is, except for details regarding your background, have you ever lied to me?”

“No.” A humorless sound escaped her. “But with regard to my background, I’ve accumulated an impressive number of offenses. What is the second question?”

“Do you love me?”

The question stilled everything inside her.
Do you love me?
How could she deny it? Yet how could she admit it? And to what end? Telling him how she felt about him would only make their parting more painful. “I cannot see how that matters, Philip.”

“It matters a great deal to me.” Eyes steady on hers, he stepped toward her, not stopping until less than two feet remained between them. Her heart pounded so hard, she could feel her blood drumming through her veins. Reaching out, he clasped her hands, then raised them to his lips. “It is a simple question, Meredith.” His words warmed his breath against her chilled fingers.

“There is nothing simple about it.”

“On the contrary, it requires nothing more than a simple yes-or-no response. Do you love me?”

She wanted to lie. Damnation, she’d uttered so many untruths over the years, surely telling one more should not cause such anguish. But she couldn’t push the falsehood past her lips. Lowering her chin, she stared at their clasped hands and whispered, “Yes.”

He squeezed her hands, then pressed her palms against his chest. Through his shirt, his heartbeat thumped against her hands, strong and steady. Wrapping one arm around her waist, he touched his fingers beneath her chin and raised her face until she had no choice but to look into his eyes. Eyes whose expression in no way reflected the disgust she’d anticipated. Indeed, his gaze was warm with tenderness. And unmistakable love.

“My third question is, will you marry me?”

Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh. She tried to step back, but his arm tightened, holding her in place. “Have you not been listening?” she asked, her voice rising to an incredulous level. “I am a
bastard
. I grew up in a
brothel
. My mother was a
prostitute
. I spent years as a
thief
.”

“You told me you’d made peace with your past. Yet you cannot seem to let it go.”

“I
have
made peace with my past. But just because
I
can accept it doesn’t mean anyone else would. The things I’ve done, my background, are unacceptable. Society, your own family, would never accept me. You know they wouldn’t.”

“You cannot help nor be blamed for the circumstances surrounding your birth, Meredith. Nor are you responsible for your mother’s actions. What you see as insurmountable obstacles, I view as reasons to admire your strength and determination to overcome such daunting odds. As for Society rejecting you, yes, I’m certain most of them would if they were to learn the things you confided in me today. However, I don’t care a jot about Society. I suffered at the expense of their petty cruelties until I left England. I owe them nothing—most especially the
woman I love. As for my family, Catherine has already given our union her blessing. She married a man from our social class—a baron with a pedigree and fortune—but they do not love each other, and she is miserably unhappy. She does not want the same misfortune to befall me.”

He moved one step closer, leaving only a hairbreadth between them. “When I returned to England, I was fully prepared to marry a woman I barely knew in order to keep my word to my father. I am no longer willing to do that. The thought of marrying anyone but you is completely impossible. Other people may not accept you, Meredith. But
I
do. Exactly as you are. And isn’t that really all that matters?”

Meredith started to tremble. Thank God his arm supported her, or she surely would have wilted to the floor. He’d listened to all her objections, then had swept them aside as if he wielded a broom.

“What if you are unable to break the curse, Philip?”

“Then I would humbly request that you be the wife of my heart, Meredith. I would not shame you, or our feelings for each other, by asking you to live openly in England as my mistress—especially now that I fully understand all the reasons for your aversion to such an arrangement. If I cannot rid myself of the curse, then we could leave England, travel abroad, anywhere you wished, and represent ourselves as husband and wife. If the curse prevents me from pledging my life to you in a church, it still cannot prevent me from pledging it to you.”

He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. “Whether it is because of the decade I spent away from Society, or simply my nature, there are very few people whose opinion truly carries any weight with me. Your past, our arrangement—whatever we decide it is to be—is private, between you and me. What anyone else thinks does not matter.”

Dear God, he made it all seem so reasonable, and possible. Still, one small matter remained….

She shifted out of his arms, and put several feet between them. “Um, Philip, I’m afraid I have a confession to make. Several minutes ago, I pilfered your watch from your waistcoat pocket.” She slipped her hand into the deep pocket of her gown to retrieve the piece. “I did it to demonstrate how completely unacceptable I would be as a candidate for your wife, and had every intention of returning it to you….” Her voice trailed off and a frown pulled down her brows as her fingers swept through her pocket. Her
empty
pocket.

“Is this what you’re looking for?”

Her gaze riveted on him slowly extracting his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “H-how…?”

He casually snapped open the gold cover, consulted the time, then returned the piece to his pocket with equal nonchalance. Then a slow, devastating smile curved his lips upward. “I picked up several skills while abroad. The ability to pinch items from someone’s pocket, for instance. Bakari instructed me on the finer points, strictly for survival reasons, you understand. Came in quite handy on more than one occasion.”

She actually felt her jaw drop open. “You
stole
things?”

“I prefer to call it retrieving my own personal items that were stolen from me first. Many places I visited were rampant with thieves and pickpockets. Since I strongly objected to being relieved of my property, I merely beat them at their own game.”

Meredith shook her head in amazed disbelief. “Incredible. You’re very good. I didn’t feel a thing.”

“Thank you. Heartwarming to know I haven’t lost my touch. However, as long as we’re exchanging confessions, I must tell you that I did, on one occasion, use my talents to confiscate something that did not belong to me. While in Syria, Bakari, Andrew, and I, through a rather circuitous series of events, were imprisoned in a dungeon. I pinched the key from the guard’s pocket, and we escaped.”

Her eyes goggled. “Imprisoned in a dungeon? Did you accidentally lock yourselves in?”

“Not exactly. It is a very involved tale, one I will happily share with you—but not right now. Right now we have much more important things to discuss.” Erasing the distance between them with a single long stride, he drew her into his arms. “Do you have any other last-minute confessions to make?”

Dazed, she shook her head.

“Excellent. Neither do I. Therefore, all that is left is for you to answer my question. Will you marry me?”

He was looking at her with an expression that robbed her of breath. Love, tenderness, admiration, and heated longing all emanated from his gaze. Everything she’d always wanted but had been convinced could never be hers now stood before her. All the feelings and yearnings she’d ever hidden in her heart burst free, flooding her with a happiness she hadn’t dared hope possible.

Staring at him in wonder, scarcely able to believe this wasn’t a dream, she reached up and framed his face between her hands. “I love you, Philip. With all my heart. Yes, I will marry you. And I will strive every day to be a good and proper wife to you.”

She felt the tension drain from his body. Lowering his head, he pressed his forehead to hers. “Thank God. I thought you were going to say no.”

“You were very persuasive.”

“Because I love you so very much.” He gently touched his lips to hers, a kiss filled with love and promise, and one that quickly flared into a passionate mating of lips and tongues. Heat raced through her, and, wrapping her arms around his neck, she raised up on her toes, pressing herself against him.

Philip tightened his arms around her, and tried his damnedest to curb his ardor, but he was lost. Lost in the soft, supple feel of her. The delicious, sweet taste of her.
Lost in the knowledge that she loved him. That she would be his wife. That she was his to love and touch and kiss. To laugh with and love with.

Her fingers wreaked havoc with his hair while his hands ran restlessly down her back, urging her closer, then skimming lower to cup her buttocks. His erection strained against his tight breeches, and a guttural groan vibrated in his throat. Summoning his last ounce of will, he broke off their kiss. He blinked behind his fogged-up lenses, then impatiently pulled off his spectacles and tossed them onto the end table.

He looked down into Meredith’s glazed eyes, and a groan of pure masculine need pushed past his lips. With her lips damp and parted, her eyelids at half mast, and her color high, she looked well kissed and thoroughly aroused. And he knew if he kissed her again, he’d give in to the need clawing at him. “Meredith, if we don’t stop now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop at all.”

She looked at him with an expression that stilled him. “I don’t recall asking you to stop.”

Her words shot
fire through his veins and robbed him of speech.
I don’t recall asking you to stop
….

“You said I was almost lost to you today,” she said, her eyes serious and intent upon his. “Well, I almost lost you as well. You said that we never know what the future holds, that every minute is a gift, and should not be squandered. I don’t want to waste so much as another second, Philip.”

Without hesitation, he bent his knees and scooped her up. Holding her tightly against his chest, he moved swiftly toward the door. “Have I mentioned how much I love the way you not only listen to me, but can repeat my own brilliant words back to me, almost verbatim?”

A smile curved her lips. “No, I don’t believe you’ve mentioned that.”

“Very remiss of me. Of course, there are so many things I love about you, it will take me an enormous amount of time to tell you all of them. Years. Decades. Especially as I am continually discovering new things.”

Leaving the study, he strode down the corridor, forcing himself not to break into an undignified gallop. As they entered the foyer, James asked anxiously, “Is Miss Chilton-Grizedale all right, my lord?”

Philip halted and beamed at the young man. “Actually,
James, Miss Chilton-Grizedale is extraordinary. And what’s more, she shall not remain Miss Chilton-Grizedale much longer. She is soon to be Viscountess Greybourne. As she just accepted my proposal only minutes ago, you may be the first to congratulate us.”

“I…I’m honored, my lord,” James stammered, clearly dumfounded at being the first to hear such a momentous announcement. “Best wishes to both of you.”

“Thank you.” Without further ado, Philip climbed the stairs, two at a time, then headed swiftly down the corridor toward his bedchamber.

Crimson stained her cheeks. “Good heavens, whatever must that young man think, with you carrying me upstairs like this?”

“He thinks you are going to make good use of the bath set up in my chamber, which you are. And he thinks I am the luckiest man in the world, which I am.”

“Your announcement of our betrothal quite shocked him. One normally shares such news with one’s family before telling the servants. And certainly not while carrying one’s betrothed. And most certainly not while carrying one’s betrothed toward the bedchamber where a bath has been prepared.” She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Whatever am I going to do about your stunning lack of propriety?”

“Hmmm. I can think of half a dozen things without even setting my mind to it. And do you really believe that was shock in his eyes? Odd, I thought it was envy. Still, how fortunate am I that my future bride is well versed in such etiquette-related details, the likes of which I’ve clearly forgotten over the years.” Arriving in his bedchamber, he crossed to the oversized brass tub set before the fire and gently lowered her to her feet. He then returned to the door to close and lock it. The click reverberated through the quiet room.

Rejoining her, he lifted her hands to press a kiss against
each of her palms. The delicious scent of freshly buttered scones teased his senses, mingling with the heated steam rising from the bath.

He slipped the pins from her hair, allowing the fasteners to fall silently onto the Axminster rug. Midnight tresses spilled over his hands and down her back. Gently sifting his fingers through the strands, he loosened the tangles and the dust, until only smooth, shiny curls fell over his fingers.

Slowly. He had to go slowly with her. But bloody hell, he wasn’t certain he would be able to, especially if she continued to look at him with eyes that reflected love and trust and desire, shadowed with just a shade of trepidation.

“Nervous?” he asked.

A short breath pushed from her lungs. “Yes.”

“I imagine you witnessed a great deal more than a child should. And I would guess that most of it was of a crude nature.”

She swallowed audibly. “True.”

He tucked a silky stray curl behind her ear. “You know I would never hurt you.”

“Of course.”

“We will be beautiful together, Meredith.”

“I know, Philip. I’m not afraid.”

“I’m glad.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m nervous as well.”

There was no mistaking her surprise. “Surely not for the same reason I am?”

Heat crept up his neck. “No. At least not exactly, as I am not a virgin. But nothing in my experience has prepared me for
this
. For making love to a woman I
love
. To a woman I desire so much I can barely think properly. To a woman I want, more than anything, to please. That, coupled with the fact that it has been many months since I was last with anyone…well, suffice it to say that I am nervous as well.”

He felt some of the tension ease from her body. “In that case,” she said, a smile trembling on her lips, “I shall do my utmost to be gentle with you.”

He smiled in return. “My darling Meredith, you have no idea how much I anticipate you doing so.”

Without taking his gaze off her, he unbuttoned her bodice, then slowly slipped her gown from her shoulders, revealing her delicate clavicle, and porcelain skin stained with a faint blush. “The first time I kissed you, at Vauxhall, my only regret was that it was so dark. I wanted to see you. Your skin. Your body. Your eyes. Your reactions. And now I have you in the light….” He eased her gown downward, over her arms, past her hips, then let it go to spill into a forest-green puddle at her feet.

Meredith drew in a quick breath and all the tension she’d only just pushed aside roared back at standing before him wearing only her undergarments. Taking her hand, he helped her step from the center of her fallen gown. He then picked up the garment and draped it over the back of a leather chair. Returning to her, he dropped to one knee. “Hold on to my shoulders.”

She did as he bade, and he gently lifted one foot, then the other, sliding off her shoes. He smoothed his hands up her calves, then the backs of her thighs, shooting shivers of delight up her spine. When his fingers skimmed near the edges of her garters, he looked up at her.

“The first time we met, after you’d swooned in St. Paul’s—”

“I prefer to call it an uncharacteristic moment of light-headedness.”

“I’m certain you do. After you swooned, I told you I would not dream of touching your garters without your express permission.”

“Actually, you said you
probably
would not dream of touching them without my express permission. I thought you were incorrigible.”

“I am.”

“I also recall assuring you that you would never receive such permission.”

“You did. May I touch your garters, Meredith?”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please do.”

He untied the ribbons and slipped off her stockings, leaving her to curl her bare toes into the fire-warmed rug.

Then he rose, and her breath stalled when he edged his fingers beneath the straps of her chemise and slowly drew the garment down her body, letting it fall at her feet.

His gaze tracked slowly downward, touching her everywhere like a heated caress, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Her nipples hardened into aching points, and her breathing turned shallow.

Reaching out, he took her hands, entwining their fingers. “Meredith…” Her name passed his lips in a rough whisper. “You’re beautiful. So beautiful.” Lifting her hands to his lips, he pressed a fervent kiss against the sensitive inside of her wrist. Tingles raced up her arm, shooting liquid heat through her, which settled low in her belly. Surely she should feel some embarrassment at standing naked before him, yet all she felt was breathless exhilaration. Heady anticipation. And an overwhelming impatience to remove his clothing so she could see him as well, feel him against her, skin to skin.

Disentangling one of her hands from his, she reached out and skimmed her fingers down the front of his shirt. “One of us is wearing far too many garments.”

His eyes darkened with a combination of heat and amusement. Releasing her hand, he pulled his shirt from his breeches, then settled his arms at his sides. “I am at your disposal, madam.”

Intrigued at the thought of undressing him, she applied herself to the row of buttons down the front of his shirt. When she finished the last one, she slowly parted the material, slipping the fine lawn over his shoulders and down
his arms. Her avid gaze took in his wide shoulders, broad chest, and muscled arms. Golden, tanned skin, sprinkled with dark brown hair that narrowed into a fascinating ribbon that bisected his ridged abdomen, before disappearing into the waistband of his breeches.

Encouraged by the desire so evident in his eyes, she placed her hands on his chest, then splayed her fingers, absorbing the warmth of his skin, delighting in the sensation of his hair tickling against her palm, his heartbeat thudding beneath her fingertips. She inhaled deeply, filling her head with the delightful, woodsy-clean scent that belonged to him alone. Captivated, she experimentally glided her hands across the expanse of firm muscles, and was rewarded with a masculine groan. Emboldened by that response, she smoothed her hands over him again, marveling at the firm, smooth texture of his skin, his hard muscles contracting beneath her palms. But when she feathered her fingertips down, over his abdomen, he sucked in a breath and grasped her wrists.

“If you continue to do that, I won’t last very long, and I am not yet finished taking care of you. There is still your bath to see to. Let me help you into the tub. The warm water will relax you, and relieve any soreness from our fall.”

“But what about you? You fell as well.”

“Which is why I intend to join you in the bath.”

His words, coupled by the sensual glitter in his eyes, fired a tingling flame through her. Pulling her gaze from his, she turned to look at the shiny brass tub, noticing for the first time its size. It was wider and considerably longer than any tub she’d ever seen, and did indeed appear large enough to fit two people—provided they sat
very
close to each other. “I’ve never seen a tub such as this.”

“I had it made in Italy. As I enjoy the healing and relaxation properties of a soak in warm water, and do not care to fold myself up like a paper fan, I required something
considerably larger than a hip bath. I’m certain you’ll enjoy it.”

Holding his hand for balance, she climbed upon the small wooden stool, stepped over the edge of the tub, then lowered herself into the heated water.

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips. “Close your eyes and relax. I shall return in a moment.”

“Where are you going?”

His gaze slid down her body. “To fetch my strigil.”

Admiring his broad back, she watched him walk toward a door she assumed led to his dressing room, and recalled their conversation in the warehouse about the strigil…how it was used by ancient Greeks and Romans for scraping moisture off their skin after bathing. And the wealth of sensual images that conversation had inspired. Of him, and her, naked in the bath—never daring to hope that such fantasies could become reality. Was it only an hour ago she’d told herself that he wasn’t hers to touch? Hers to kiss? Yet now he was all that, and so much more. He was hers to love. And marry. And care for.
And bathe with…

The curls of steam rising from the water had nothing to do with the heat coursing through her. The door he’d disappeared through opened, and he walked toward her, wearing a dark blue silk robe, the sash loosely knotted about his waist. She noted his bare feet, and her heart sped up at the realization that the robe was all he wore. In one hand he carried a folded towel, in the other hand he carried a strigil, identical to the one she’d cataloged at the warehouse, except this one was made of highly polished brass and looked considerably newer.

After setting down the towel and strigil next to the towel whoever had prepared the bath had already left, he crouched down alongside the tub. Dipping his hand into the water, he trailed his fingers along her thigh. “How does the water feel?”

“Nice. Warm.” Summoning her courage, she added, “Lonely.”

Heat flickered in his eyes, and without a word, he rose, untied the sash securing his robe, then shrugged the garment from his body. Her gaze wandered slowly downward, from his shoulders and chest, following that captivating silky line of hair down his abdomen to his…

Oh, my.

Lower, that silky ribbon spread to cradle his fully erect manhood. Fascination and trepidation collided in her, and her gaze flew up to meet his. His ardor was obvious, but judging by the banked fire in his eyes, it was also clear that he was holding himself in tight control.

He stepped to the edge of the tub. “Move forward a bit,” he said softly.

Entranced, she did as he bade her, watching over her shoulder as he stepped over the edge, then lowered himself to sit behind her.

The water rose, coming within inches of sloshing over onto the carpet. He slipped his long legs on either side of her, then, grasping her shoulders, eased her backward until her entire back reclined against his chest, warm water lapping at her shoulders. He fitted his arms beneath hers, wrapping them lightly around her waist.

Sensations bombarded her from every direction. The incredible feel of his naked body surrounding hers, their skin slippery and sleek from the water. The gentle tickle of his chest hair against her shoulders. His heartbeat thumping against her back. His arousal nestled snugly against the base of her spine. Her temple resting against his smoothly shaven cheek. The sight of his strong, golden brown arms and legs enveloping her, her skin so pale in comparison. One of his large hands cupping the underside of her breast beneath the water, her nipple erect, as if begging for his touch. She drew in a deep breath and
her eyes slid closed as his unique scent rose on the steam, surrounding her in a heated, sensual cocoon from which she never wished to emerge.

Yet just when she thought it impossible to be steeped in further sensations, his hands began to move beneath the water. Her eyelids fluttered open and she watched his hands glide slowly upward, over her breasts. His palms skimmed over her taut nipples, but he did not linger, instead continuing his upward journey to her shoulders, where his fingers lightly massaged. A low moan of pleasure purred in her throat.