Sandra Owens Page 10

  She mumbled something and her hands twitched under his. “I have you, love.” He began to rock her again and she quieted. The fire sputtered, the flames dying.

  “Jamie, your mother is better now. Go on back to bed. I will see you in the morning.”

  Jamie stood, kissed his mother, then Michael on the cheek and left. Sweet, merciful Jesus. What am I to do with these two?

  Michael held the woman who should have been his wife for another few minutes. When he was sure the dream had passed, he stood and carried her to the bed.

  “Michael?”

  He sat on the edge of the mattress, taking her hand in his. “I’m here. You cried out in your sleep, and I only wanted to make sure you were well.”

  Sad, so very sad, brown eyes looked up at him. “I’m sorry to have awakened you. It must have been reading the letter that brought everything back.”

  He slid the back of his knuckles down one cheek and smiled. “You didn’t wake me. Even if you had, I would ask that you not be sorry for it. Are you all right now?”

  In the flickering candlelight, her beloved face smiled back at him. “I am. Thank you for taking care of me.”

  He would always take care of her. Always. He leaned down and kissed her forehead, only intending to kiss that one part of her.

  “Please stay,” she said, her voice a soft plea.

  His confounded heart didn’t know whether to beat faster or stop beating at all. “What do you want from me, Diana?” He carefully watched her eyes for the truth in her answer.

  Her gaze never left his. “I need to feel alive. I need you to make me feel wanted again. I want to feel hands touching me in kindness. Once, you did all of that for me. I want you to do it again.”

  His heart decided they were running the mile on a racetrack. “Diana?”

  “Michael?”

  There might have been questions there from each of them. He no longer knew. No longer cared. He slid under the covers with her. He still wore his burgundy dressing gown. She still wore her virginal white cotton nightrail. Would she allow him to remove it?

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, I’m sure, but you must blow out the candle.”

  He obliged her and sent them into the dark, but he regretted her request. He wanted to see her, all of her. No matter how badly she was marked by the madman he called cousin, she was beautiful, had never been anything but exquisite.

  Once, she had been his.

  For one brief, one very brief moment, he thought he shouldn’t be doing this. He was going to marry someone else. Then, she lifted her nightdress to her waist and pressed against him. For as many times in as many days, his reason left him. She said she needed him. Nothing else but that mattered. In all of his six and thirty years, there had never been anyone but her.

  Chapter Ten

  The dream had been so real. She had been back in her bedroom at Brantley Hall, once again tied to her bed while her husband amused himself with his knife. Opening her eyes to see Michael sitting next to her, the fear faded. He would keep her safe.

  She had only done this once before, many years ago, and with him. She still remembered how alive she had felt, how loved. She needed that now, craved it.

  He slid his hand over her stomach toward her breast. She grabbed his arm before he could touch her there. “No.”

  “I want to touch you, Diana.”

  She brought his hand up over the cloth and pressed his palm over a breast. “Like this, you can only touch me like this.”

  Soft lips touched hers. He kissed each corner of her mouth and then moved to her eyes, and then down one cheek. Finding her lips again, he traced their outline with his tongue. He was so gentle, his touches as soft as a feather.

  His hand tenderly molded a breast, and his clever fingers played with her nipple. She wished her breast were perfect so she could feel him skin to skin. She sighed in regret.

  A low chuckle rumbled from him. “Like that, do you?”

  The reason for her sigh had been misunderstood, but she did like it. “Yes.”

  He deepened the kiss and when his tongue begged entrance, she parted her lips, allowing him in. One arm slipped under her, wrapping around her back and holding her close against him. She pushed his dressing gown aside and trailed her fingers over his chest, found a nipple and flicked it.

  “Ah,” he murmured into her mouth.

  She did it again. He pushed his erection against her thigh in response.

  His hand trailed down her stomach, probing her curls, then stroking her. His finger slipped inside her while his thumb did miraculous things to that most secret of spots. The pleasure began slowly; an enjoyable thing, a bearable thing, and then it grew and grew until she could no longer contain it. She bit down on her lip to keep from calling out his name as waves of ecstasy crashed through her.

  The drought was over. It had rained in the desert. Flowers bloomed in a riot of colors. For the first time in eleven years, a man touched her skin, her breasts, and her most secret of places with a loving hand, his only intention to bring her pleasure. If she were God, she would stop time.

  He lifted his head, and she sensed he was trying to see her face through the gloom. “I wish I could watch you come for me.”

  She wished she could see him, too. His hand left her mons and he traced her lips with a finger, the one that had been inside her. She touched her tongue to the tip and tasted herself.

  “Let’s make magic, shall we?” he whispered softly against her ear.

  “Yes, please.”

  He turned her onto her back and came over her, between her legs, and she felt his member probing her entrance, felt him wrap his hand around himself as he pushed into her. Slowly he entered, an inch at a time, stopping, waiting for her to accommodate him before moving again.

  Lowering his face, he rested it against hers. His jaw and cheek were smooth as if he had recently shaved. She inhaled deeply, breathing in his scent. He smelled of fine milled soap and bay, fresh, as if he had just come from his bath.

  Her hands gripped his upper arms, his muscles flexing against the pressure of the fingers she dug into his skin. He was so very strong, and she wanted to bring his strength into her body, wanted to own his power. Impatient with his gentle care, she moved her hands to his buttocks and tried to pull him all the way into her.

  “Easy,” he breathed, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “You won’t.” She pressed harder on his taut buttocks.

  Her words seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He filled her, and for the first time in years and years she was blessedly warm inside. He stilled and sighed. Was he feeling it, too? This sense of belonging. She could live in this bed forever, covered by his blanket of heat, filled to her very core by him, forever safe. He began to move, slowly withdrawing, coming back, withdrawing.

  She was glad of the dark for it hid her tears. For these next few moments, she would be loved. Gentle hands would touch her skin. After he left her, she would have the memory of this night, and she would use it like a greedy girl to banish the terrors that visited her in the darkest hours.

  “Make me forget, Michael.”

  “I will, I promise.”

  His hands slid under her bottom, raising her to meet his thrusts. She brought her knees up, her feet flat on the bed and matched his movements. She heard a low noise in his throat, the growling sound vibrating through her, urging her on.

  Needing more, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Please, kiss me.”

  His mouth covered hers, his tongue scraping past her teeth, then out, then back, imitating the movements of the part of him inside her. If her time with him could last forever, she would never be afraid again.

  His movements quickened and she felt the pressure building again, low in her belly, then further down. She met him, thrust for thrust. Her blood heated, her heart pounded, her release came with such force she couldn’t stop from crying out his name.

  His body shuddered and he
jerked out of her spilling his seed over the nightdress covering her stomach. She didn’t want to risk getting with child, truly, yet, an inexplicable sadness came with his care in preventing it.

  A soft kiss to her lips and then he rolled over on his back, pulling her next to him. “Are you all right?” he asked, each word spoken between deep inhales.

  Her head rested on his arm and she pressed her nose against his chest breathing in his clean scent. “Yes,” she murmured. His breathing slowed, returning to normal. His magic had worked. She forgot about bad dreams and punishments, falling into a deep sleep.

  ****

  “Do you…do you regret this?” he asked

  She didn’t answer. Michael listened to Diana’s even breathing. Reason returned, along with regret and shame. Sweet Jesus, what had he done? She had been distraught, needing comfort, reassurance that she was safe. Taking advantage of her distressed state was inexcusable, one more unforgivable thing he had done to her.

  With slow movements, he eased his arm from under her head and slipped out of bed. Covering her, he stood and looked at her. Because of the low burning fire, he could see her better than she realized. Not as distinctly as he had wished when she shattered in his arms, but bright enough to see the ecstasy on her face when the pleasure took her. Then he had felt the tears on her cheeks with his fingers.

  Almost, he had stopped then, but she asked him to make her forget. He knew what she wanted. Knew she needed to replace memories of her years with Leo. He was probably as good a one to do that for her as the next man, her future husband, perhaps.

  He strode back to his room. Going to the mantel, he picked up the clock and held it down to the firelight. Three. He put the clock back, looked at his bed, knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, knew he could not spend another day at this place. There was no getting around it, he had wronged her. He could not face her in the morning, could not look into those sad brown eyes and acknowledge that he had hurt her again.

  ****

  “Wake up.” Michael shook his valet’s shoulder and was almost rewarded with a punch on the nose. He jumped back. “The devil, man, what is wrong with you?”

  One eye opened, it widened, the other opened. “Lord Daventry?”

  “Yes, Hansen, it is I.” Michael didn’t hold his near broken nose against the man. It was an ungodly hour, after all.

  Hansen sprang from bed. “What time is it, my lord?”

  Michael narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell cares about the time? Pack me up. I’m off to London.” He turned and walked out.

  In Jamie’s room, Michael sat on a stool he had pulled near the bed. He held up his candle and stared into the sleeping boy’s face. Was Jamie his? Suppose he was. What then? For the boy’s sake, he couldn’t announce it to the world, as much as he might want to. He would not see his son labeled a bastard. Could he ever tell Jamie? If somehow he could prove the truth of it, he would want his son to know his true father.

  More than once, he had been on the verge of asking the date of Jamie’s birthday. Each time, he had held back. What if the date proved the boy wasn’t his? He preferred to hold onto the possibility that Jamie belonged to him.

  The weight of his questions, the answers he didn’t have, his new betrayal, all of it was too bloody much. If he couldn’t stand himself, how could he face her? He would run like a damned coward. He had done it before, was experienced at it. “History repeats itself,” he murmured.

  Michael gently shook Jamie’s shoulder. “Jamie? Wake up, lad.”

  “Michael?” Jamie sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Is it morning?”

  “No, but I need to tell you something. I have to leave.”

  “You do? Why?”

  “I have to return to London because…” Because why? Because I’m a rotten bastard. “I have to return to Town to take care of some urgent business.” That sounded reasonable.

  “Can Mama and I come with you?”

  Michael set the candle on the table, using the action to look away from the hopeful eyes. His gaze slid back to Jamie. “I would like that very much, but not this time, I’m afraid.”

  Jamie slumped against his pillow, disappointment obvious on his young face. “You are going to come back, aren’t you?”

  Someday. “Yes, but I don’t know when. You and your mother will stay here. You are safe now, you know that, don’t you?”

  Jamie nodded. “I know you won’t let anyone hurt us again. But you have to come back soon, you promised to teach me how to fight. What if a bad man comes while you are gone and I don’t know how to protect Mama?”

  Christ. The boy knew just where to send his punch. “Listen. No bad man would dare come to Wyburne because he knows I would hunt him down if he hurt those I love.”

  Scrambling to his knees, his eyes bright and happy, Jamie grabbed Michael’s hand. “Do you really love us?”

  Michael swallowed hard. “Yes, Jamie, I love you.”

  The child apparently wasn’t letting him off that easy. “And Mama, do you love her, too?”

  Once he had. Heart, body, and soul. “I love you both. If it will make you feel better, I will make it Roger’s duty to guard you and your Mama until I return. He’s a big, strapping lad and no one would dare challenge him.”

  “I think you should, just so Mama won’t be afraid.” He threw himself onto Michael’s chest and wrapped his arms around Michael’s neck. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  Michael almost agreed to stay. Almost.

  ****

  Diana sensed she was being watched, but didn’t perceive any danger. She opened her eyes to find Jamie sitting on her bed, legs crossed under him, his gaze focused on her.

  She yawned. “Jamie? What time is it?”

  He looked over at the mantel of the fireplace. “It’s eleven on the clock.”

  Good lord, she hadn’t slept this late since…well, since forever. It was also the best sleep she’d had in years. When she snuggled her face into the pillow, she smelled fine milled soap and bay. Michael! She sat up and looked around. Thank God he had left before Jamie arrived.

  “Are you better, Mama?”

  “I’m fine, why do you think I’m not?”

  “You had one of your bad dreams. Michael and I took care of you together. He held you in his lap and we watched the fire until your dream went away.”

  She hadn’t known that. How had she slept through being held by him? She gave Jamie a kiss on the forehead. “I’m sorry I woke you, but thank you for taking care of me. Shouldn’t you be in the schoolroom?”

  “Yes, but I told Mr. Denton I needed to tell you something. I like him, Mama. He showed me a book that has all the names of the stars in it.”

  “That’s wonderful.” And, it was. She had taught him as much as she could, but there were so many things a boy should know, things her governess apparently hadn’t thought it necessary to teach her. Just one more thing she had worried about and something more to thank Michael for. Her debts were piling up.

  As much as she enjoyed her son’s company, she wanted to be alone to think about last night. She also needed to prepare herself to face Michael. Did he regret coming to her bed? Did he think poorly of her now? Would they talk about it, or pretend it never happened?

  “I imagine Mr. Denton is waiting for you.”

  Because she was an experienced eye-watcher, she caught the change in Jamie’s. Something wasn’t right. “What’s wrong, love?”

  “Michael left.”

  “What?” His little body jerked at her shout. She took his hand to reassure him and forced herself to speak in a normal tone. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that you surprised me. Do you know where he went?”

  “To London. He said he had to take care of something and didn’t know when he would be back.”

  Tears shimmered in her son’s eyes. One of her worries was coming true. She had allowed him to get too close to Michael. She couldn’t bear to see Jamie hurt, would never forgive Michael if he broke Jamie’s he
art. “I’m sure he will return soon. Did you talk to him before he left?”

  He nodded. “He came to my room and woke me up because he didn’t want to leave without telling me first. He told Roger to guard us so no bad man can come here and hurt us. Michael said if one did, he would hunt him down.”

  Did he really need to go to London, or did he leave because of last night? Why didn’t he wake her like he had Jamie? How could he hold her in his arms, love her the way he had, and then just up and leave? What was she supposed to think?

  Tears burned her eyes, but she steeled herself against them. What a sad pair they were, both on the verge of crying because of a man who had barreled his way into their life. “I think you better go now, Jamie. Mr. Denton will think you don’t want to learn your lessons.”

  He jumped off the bed. “All right.” At the door, he stopped and turned. “Mama, Michael said he loves us. You and me.”

  “You’re a special boy, how could he not love you?” And you’re his son.

  A smile lit his face. “He’ll come back soon, I just know it.”

  There was a scratch on the door and he opened it. “She’s awake now,” he said to Fanny on his way out.

  Fanny entered with a tray in her hands. “Good morn, my lady. Before he left, the master said to let you sleep. I’ve brought some warm chocolate and toast. I wasn’t sure you would want more so close to luncheon.”

  Had Michael talked to everyone but her? “This is perfect, Fanny. As for luncheon, I think I will just have another tray sent up.”

  “Yes, my lady.” She set the tray on the bedside table, handing Diana the cup.

  She still marveled that chocolate was being delivered to her each morning. She closed her eyes, savoring the rich taste of it.

  “Do you have a preference of gowns, my lady?”

  Diana appreciated having a lady’s maid again, but it was also a problem. One she wasn’t sure how to solve. “I think I’ll wait awhile to dress. Please return in an hour.”

  After Fanny left, she reached to pick up a slice of toast and saw a folded paper half hidden by the plate. She opened it to find a short note from Michael.