She'd have liked to send Michael on this errand, but the boy and his sister had been pecking at her for days. She simply couldn't face their unending arguments and Cole Morgan at the same time. The children had made it clear they objected to the betrothal, but what's done was done and they'd simply have to get used to the idea. Time would take care of that situation.
With this other problem, however, time was her enemy.
Which was why she found herself twisting the knob on the door to Cole Morgan's bedroom.
Quickly, she slipped inside and silently shut the door behind her. She waited where she stood for a full minute, working up the nerve to approach the bed.
He slept with both the window drapes and bed curtains open wide. As a result, moonlight spilled through the floor-to-ceiling-length window and cast the room, including his bed, in a silvery glow. Chrissy could easily make out his shape lying there beneath the blankets. Mostly beneath the blankets, that is.
He had one long bare muscular leg flung atop the heap.
Chrissy blinked, then forced her attention to where his head rested on a pillow. He lay on his side, facing her.
He
snores. Hah
.
How uncouth.
Of course, compared to Jake, who sounded like a sawmill when he slept, Cole's snore passed for mild.
Overcoming her hesitation, she marched over to the bed, reached for the lump she thought to be his shoulder, and shook. "Wake up, Morgan. I need to talk to you."
His eyes opened. "Gypsy Belle? Is that you?"
Gypsy Belle? That's a soiled dove's name if I've ever heard one.
Chrissy made a fist and punched him on the side of his arm. "It's Chrissy, you fool. Wake up. As much as I hate it, I need you."
He sat straight up in bed. "What?"
"Be quiet." She clapped a hand over his mouth. "You'll wake the whole house."
Cole yanked her hand away, then reached out and lit the bedside lamp.
His wavy hair was boyishly rumpled, his eyes still hazy from slumber. Chrissy tried her best to keep her gaze from straying below his neck, but the female in her won out.
Oh my.
A thin dusting of dark hair covered his broad chest and arrowed intriguingly downward to where the covers pooled in his lap.
"What are you doing here?"
She wanted to run her fingers across his chest to see if it was as hard as it looked.
"Bug! What the hell are you doing?"
Nothing. I'm not touching.
She didn't intend to, at least, but somehow her hand ended up hovering mere inches above his chest. Thank God he grabbed her wrist and pushed her away, snapping her out of her haze. Otherwise, no telling what idiocy she might have attempted.
She pulled back and put some distance between them. "I have to talk to you, and I can't seem to manage it during the daytime."
"That's because Lord Windy stays draped around you like a ratty old coat," Cole grumbled. Then he shook his head. "I can't believe you've done this. What if someone saw you come in here? Don't you have a care for your reputation?"
"Lord
Welby
and no, no one saw me. That's why I waited so late to come. I've been careful."
Cole picked up his gold pocket watch from the table and flipped back the cover. "No, you've been lucky.
If
no one saw you, that is. Christina, since all the guests arrived for the house party, this is one of the busiest times of night."
"What do you mean?"
"Folks are returning to their own rooms following their visits to others."
"At this time of night?" Chrissy scoffed. "That's silly. What could they possibly be... oh."
"Yes, oh."
She shrugged. "Well, what's done is done. I'm here now so we might as well not waste the chance."
Warily, Cole replied, "Chance for what?"
"I told you. I need to talk to you."
"No. You told me you need me. It's that kind of talk, Christina, that gets a girl in trouble."
Chrissy blew a frustrated breath. "Pay attention, Morgan. It's about the Declaration."
That got his attention. He made as if to rise from bed, but suddenly he stopped. "Turn around."
"Why?"
"Just do it, please?"
The
please
won her over. She could count on both hands the times he'd said that particular word to her. She did as he asked, then tried not to listen—or not imagine, anyway—as she heard the rustle of clothing.
Finally, he said, "What about the Declaration?"
She turned and tried not to stare at the picture of his long tanned fingers fixing the last button on his pants before reaching for a brilliant white shirt. Somehow, watching him dress seemed more intimate than seeing a good bit of him bare in his bed.
"Christina?"
She cleared her throat. "It's about tomorrow. I don't know if you heard the news, but Lord Bennet arrived at Hartsworth late this evening."
"It's two in the morning. It's tomorrow already."
"Don't be difficult." Chrissy sat on the corner of his bed and ignored the strange look that came over his face. "My grandfather has arranged an entertainment for the afternoon that should appeal to our guests' and Lord Bennet's, in particular, fascination with other lands. However, this plan won't do us one bit of good unless one of us is with Bennet to herd the conversation in the direction we need. I'm afraid that under the circumstances I won't have the opportunity to mine him for information like I did the others."
"Mine, Christina?"
She waved her arm. "A figure of speech."
"And circumstances being the Viscount of Windy."
"That's Viscount
Welby,"
she absently corrected. "No 'of.' "
Cole arched a cynical brow. "How interesting that you think it more important to educate me on the nuances of proper address for British aristocracy than to scold me for the slight to your betrothed."
She sighed. "Other than to concede that Welby does like to spend as much time with me as possible, something that's only natural for a fiancé, I might add, I'm not going to waste my breath talking to you about my upcoming marriage." Ignoring his snort, she continued, "I'm here to talk about tomorrow. From gossip I've solicited from other ladies, I believe Lord Bennet may indeed know something about the Declaration. I need you to follow through for me."
Having known him basically all her life, Chrissy knew when she'd managed to trigger his anger. Upon spying the tick in his jaw, she prepared herself for verbal assault.
He began with a lazy drawl. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't it
my
job to locate the missing Declaration? I have this vague recollection of being sent here for exactly that reason."
"Now, Cole..."
"Don't you 'Now, Cole' me. You risked your reputation by coming to my room tonight to ask me for help for something that is
my
job to do." He braced his hands on his hips and took three steps toward her. Chrissy scooted back just a little bit on his bed. "Do you have any idea how crazy that makes me?"
Pretty crazy, from the looks of it.
"I can't help but wonder just how your brain works, Christina. Maybe while you're here in England we should take you to London and have it studied. Perhaps scientists would discover some peculiarity in your head they could somehow replicate to benefit mankind. I'm sure there must be instances when a recklessness pill might come in handy."
"Aren't you funny."
"No, I'm furious. Do you have no faith at all in my abilities? Do you think I'm so incompetent?" He was right in front of her now, leaning down, his face in hers as he demanded, "Did my lack of control at the folly the other day lead you to conclude I'm as feather-headed as you are?"
"I'm not featherheaded," she protested softly, her throat tight. Pressure built behind her eyes.
I won't cry. I won't.
"And I didn't come to your room because I think you're incompetent."
"Then why did you come to me, Christina?" His breath fogged hotly against her cheeks, and the air between them shimmered with heat.
"I don't know. I don't like how it is between us now. I thought maybe... perhaps..."
"What?"
A dozen different ideas hovered on her tongue, but the one that slipped out was the last thing she wanted to say. "I thought you found me attractive."
He closed his eyes and shuddered. Long seconds ticked by. "I do," he said finally, his voice a rough croak. "Damn you, Bug, but I do."
His confession was a magnet that pulled her toward him. He smelled of sandalwood and yearning and he was oh, so close.
Chrissy kissed him.
She pressed her lips to his and poured all the feeling, all the confusion, churning inside her into the effort. Cole resisted for only a heartbeat before responding. He muttered something—an oath, she thought—then groaned and took control.
His hands were magic. He knew just where to touch her, just how to stroke her, to feed the spark of her desire. He knelt on the bed, urged her back until she lay sandwiched between the hard length of his body and soft comfort of the mattress. Her head spun, her breasts tingled, and her woman's core ached.
Again, it was happening again. Chrissy knew she should stop it, knew he didn't want this, but she couldn't quite summon the will to say no. In fact, every inch of her body seemed to be screaming
Yes
,
yes, yes.
His hands delved beneath her skirt and soon found bare skin. She shivered at his touch, gloried in the scrape of work-roughened skin against her. Passion sang in her blood and lured her toward mindlessness.
But it didn't quite get her there.
Even as his fingers slipped inside her wet heat, sending ribbons of pleasure fluttering through her, Chrissy remembered how he'd reacted the last time in the folly. She recalled the harsh looks. She heard the echo of the words they'd exchanged since.
She didn't want that. This momentary pleasure wasn't worth the heartache that undoubtedly would follow. She only hoped it wasn't already too late to avoid it.
She turned her head, breaking contact, and regretfully pushed against the hardness of his chest. "Cole."
That's all it took. His hand dropped away. Groaning, he rolled off of her and lay on his back, breathing heavily, one arm flung over his eyes. "I wish Jake were here."
"Why?"
"He could just shoot me now and get it over with."
"My brother wouldn't shoot you."
Cole shifted his arm and cocked open one eye. "Quick as a rattler on a rat, he would."
Chrissy didn't argue the point again. Cole seemed so definite and besides, he wouldn't have heard her over the litany of curses he muttered. She didn't move or make a sound as he finally wound down and declared. "I miss home. I miss the weather and the people and the music and the scent of chili spices hanging on the air. I miss the newness of it all, the sense that I'm living on the edge of civilization in San Antonio. Over here, everything is so... settled. So old. Stifling." After a moment's pause, he added, "That must be it."
When seconds ticked by without his elaborating, she prodded, "Must be what?"
"Why I'm all of a sudden losing control around you. You are an exciting woman. I'll give you that. But this..." he sat up and made a waving motion with his hand. "This..." He stood and paced the room. "This madness between us. It's has to stop, Chrissy. It must stop."
Her heart thumping, Chrissy sat up. She licked her suddenly dry lips and croaked out the question that had rumbled through her subconscious for hours or days or maybe even years. "Why?"
He stopped short, his head whipping around. "What?"
"I asked why?"
"Why what, Christina?"
She frowned. She'd gone from Christina, to Chrissy, to Bug and now back again. Could there be a better barometer of Cole's frame of mind? Still, she had to ask.
"Why does it need to stop? I enjoy it and it's obvious you do, too. You know, I've some experience when it comes to kissing, and I honestly don't remember it ever being quite this... stimulating before. Maybe we should give it some more time and see where it goes."
He gaped at her. "Forget exciting. You're a menace. 'See
where it goes?' Didn't you learn anything when you followed me and your brother to the whorehouse? I'll tell you where it goes." He pointed toward the bed. "Are you that reckless, girl?"
She had a sudden vision of her and Cole back in the bed, limbs entwined, their bodies naked.
Yes, I'm that reckless.
She thought of Lord Welby and her upcoming nuptials and said, "This madness, you call it. It means something, Cole. I think we owe it to ourselves—"
"It means we both have an itch that needs scratching. That's all. It doesn't mean it's right to scratch each other's itches." He stormed around the room, waving his hands as he spoke in a tone no less furious for its quietness. "I can't believe you are talking this way... acting this way... with me. No wonder your mother was at her wits' end. You need a keeper."
The words formed on her tongue without conscious thought. "Or a husband."
He froze mid-step then drew back in horror. The moment spun out like dew on Hartsworth's front lawn and when finally he spoke, Chrissy heard a harsh note in his tone. "What are you trying to say, Christina?"
Obviously nothing you
want to hear.
She rose from the bed and smoothed her skirts, pride winging to the rescue. "I'm sure it's not you. Cole. I imagine my feminine juices are simply stirred up in anticipation of my wedding. Welby is such a gentleman, of course, and he wouldn't think of trying to compromise me like this."
"Now wait just one minute," Cole said. "You're the one who—"
She brushed past him, headed for his door. "And I imagine the reason I found it so stimulating is that I allowed you liberties I've never allowed another man. Now that I know, perhaps I'll see what I can do about convincing Welby to act less a gentleman," she opened the door, "and more like you."
"Christina!" He looked red in the face and brought to mind a volcano fixing to blow.
"Don't forget to talk to Lord Bennet tomorrow," she added, peeking out into the hallway to see if the coast was clear. Safer out than in, she slipped into the corridor and started to shut the door. Cole's litany of low-voiced curses had her ducking her head back inside. "You prove my point, Cole Morgan. A gentleman doesn't speak so in front of a lady."