Chapter 18

That night, William could not sleep yet again. He closed his eyes and willed slumber to come, but it would not. No matter which way he turned in the bed or how he rested his head on the pillow, he heard his blood whooshing in his ears, his body jittering with restless unease.

Less than a week married, and I am already regretting it.

He sat up and stared at the adjoining door between his bedchamber and Lydia's. A thin band of light glowed along the bottom edge, like a beacon to his curiosity. Had she locked it? If he were to knock, would she open it for him? A taste of her would undoubtedly satisfy him enough to give him a peaceful night's rest, like drinking a tonic from the apothecary.

The longer he stared, and his eyes adjusted, the more he became certain that she would simply kick him out for a third time… and the more compelled he became to find out.

Throwing back the crisp linen coverlets, he headed for the adjoining door. He was about to try the handle when he remembered his state of undress, for he never liked to sleep wearing anything, especially in the warmer months. It was far too restrictive.

He grabbed his housecoat and threw it on, tying it at the waist.

That done, he knocked.

"I am asleep," came Lydia's decidedly alert voice.

He tried the handle, unsurprised to find it locked. "I just want to say goodnight, kitten."

"Goodnight," she replied.

"It is bad for a wife and husband to go to sleep with matters unresolved," he said in a silky voice, forcing back memories of his childhood, when the hallways of Stonebridge were filled with the mighty roars and shrill shrieks of his mother and father.

Why did you have to mention my parents at all?

He cursed inwardly at his wife's curiosity, but he would soon make her forget to be curious about anything but him.

He heard footsteps and the turn of the key in the lock. With a sly smile on his lips, he waited for Lydia to open the door wide to welcome him into her chambers. Instead, she opened it a crack and stared up at him with a rather unimpressed look on her face.

"I am tired, so I will hear your apology, accept it, and return to my bed," she said, stifling a yawn.

He blinked. "My apology?"

"Is that not what you meant by unresolved matters? I assumed you wanted to apologize for the way you behaved at dinner, making your brother and I exceedingly uncomfortable with your grim temper," she replied in that same maddeningly indifferent tone. "Indeed, you should at least apologize for trying to control the company I keep."

He put his hand on the door and pushed gently.

She pushed back. "Say your piece and go to bed."

"What I wish to say is better expressed in a way that does not involve words," he told her in a low, seductive growl. "Do you remember what I mentioned at dinner? I should like to reconcile."

He rested his arm against the door, curving it over his head and hers as he leaned in. If she were to step back suddenly, he would probably stumble into her chambers instead of striding in, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

Lydia gave her most disarming smile. "I shall give you one minute to figure out how to say it with words. If you cannot, perhaps it is something you can practice and rehearse over the next two days, and you can tell me in the carriage on the way to Bruxton Hall."

"Bruxton Hall?"

"Joanna's ball. It is in two days." Lydia's tilted her head to one side, her eyes glinting. "Unless you would prefer me to attend alone? I had hoped to hear your opinion on my new gown, but if you are intent on remaining in London, then I suppose you shall just have to imagine it."

William took slow breaths, calming the rising heat that simmered in his veins, tempted and perturbed by the minx standing in front of him in equal measure. From the instant he had met her—before he had realized she was the woman he planned to marry—he had known she was a firebrand, but it had not been this sultry, seductive, maddening sort of fieriness. This was a newer revelation, and he still did not know what to make of it.

"I would advise you not to taunt me, kitten," he purred, bringing his fingertips to the underside of her chin.

You have a greater chance of becoming the Queen of England than attending that ball alone.

He could already envision a horde of ravenous gentlemen salivating over her if her gown was anything like the one she had worn to the opera. The thought of even one of those imagined men touching so much as a fingertip of hers made him bristle, his hackles rising as if he really were a wolf, ready to snap at anyone who dared to get too close to his territory.

Lydia smiled back. "Then do not make it so easy." Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and that beast inside him began to prowl restlessly. "It has a neckline cut to here," she said, trailing her fingertips over the flimsy white cotton of her nightdress. "Barely a sleeve. A ribbon to enhance my waist. And such… exquisite beading. Did I mention that it was red?"

"You ought to show it to me so that I might find a tailcoat to match," he said, pushing the door again. "Though, I am curious—where have you found the coin to pay for such rare garments?"

Lydia took a step back, and he just managed to keep his balance. "My father gave me what he called my ‘settling money,' so that I would make an excellent entrance into Society as a duchess. I did not wish to disappoint anyone, least of all my husband."

She had been calling him that more often, peppered sparsely with the pet names that were undoubtedly intended to irritate him. But hearing ‘husband' on the threshold of her bedchamber had a far greater effect than it had possessed before. It stoked the furnace of desire that was already roaring to mighty heights within his veins, intoxicating and undoubtedly dangerous.

"Remove your nightdress," he commanded, stepping all the way into the room and closing the adjoining door behind him. "Put on your gown for Joanna's ball. I would see it before I truly decide if I am to accompany you or not."

Lydia turned her back to him, the firelight ahead of her revealing the breathtaking silhouette of her body beneath that light white fabric. He leaned back against the door to admire every curve—the perfect hourglass of her narrow waist and sensual hips. As she walked closer to the fireplace, he caught sight of shapely thighs, thick and supple, just how he favored them. And an equally shapely backside that it was a crying shame not to be able to grasp in his palms.

"You just said it was unwise for me to taunt you," Lydia replied, "so I think I shall leave my nightdress where it is."

He could have laughed at her quick-wittedness if he were not so distracted by her exquisite physique. "How else am I to see your gown properly if I do not see it on your person?"

"At Joanna's ball," she said, glancing back over her shoulder at him. "I cannot put the gown on by myself, and it is far too late for me to summon my lady's maid. What a pity that you cannot touch me, or you could have helped me."

What manner of temptress are you?

He had never encountered one more gifted, that was for certain, for he had never wanted anyone more.

"Of course," she continued, turning the rest of her body slowly toward him, "you could see more than the gown, and I would obey your request to remove my nightdress if you felt inclined to break my rule. However, the consequences for breaking my rule are exceptionally severe."

William ran his gaze over that tortuous silhouette—the hint of full, pert breasts, the teasing points of the nipples he had drawn into his mouth last night, that enticing waist, and those divine hips. All things he could have, could taste, could explore, could possess if he just conceded defeat. She was giving him the invitation—all he had to do was take it.

"How severe?" he asked, forcing himself to look away from the perfection of her body to meet her sultry gaze.

She smiled in a way that would have made a weaker man fall to his knees, begging for a morsel of her. "You must give me whatever I want. Whatever I ask for. You cannot refuse me."

"And what would you ask for, kitten?"

He took a step closer, already imagining the multitude of life-altering, earth-shattering things he wanted to show her. Indeed, when he was done, she would not have the strength or inclination left to ask for anything at all, for she would have known paradise already. And what could be greater than that?

She shook her head and tapped the side of her nose. "That is for me to know, and you to decide if you want to find out."

"A little sly, do you not think?"

"Not at all. I am merely following your lead. You would not tell me what the consequences of breaking your rules would be, so either we are both sly, or neither of us is," she replied without hesitation, too sharp for her own good.

Yet, there was something in her demeanor that gave William pause. A nervousness bubbling beneath the temptress fa?ade, her eyes too bright, her invitation almost too eager. Was she afraid that he might say yes, and tonight would be their delayed wedding night? Or was she anxious that he might say no? The former he could understand, but the latter made him uneasy in a way he could not explain.

I suppose there is only one way to find out.

"As tempting as your offer is, I would be a foolish man if I were to agree to give you anything you wanted," he said, smiling. "Alas, the prize is simply not worth the risk, especially not when the reward is but a few weeks away, anyway."

Her eyes narrowed, and he thought he saw a bristle of something akin to disappointment. "Very well," she said stiffly. "Then goodnight to you."

"I cannot leave now," he replied, still savoring the sight of her in that bronzed firelight. "Clearly, I have angered you, and I should like to know why."

It was like watching an actor shed their costume and become another character entirely. Lydia relaxed her shoulders, tilted her hip out, rested her hand on that curve, and flashed a winning smile in his direction. All semblance of her former disappointment had vanished in an instant, her eyes no longer anxious but shining with mirth.

"Angry? What reason would I have to be angry when you have just given me the most fortunate news?" she asked, laughter bright in her voice.

He raised an eyebrow. "And what news would that be?"

"That I shall be able to sleep undisturbed, and that I shall not have to lie in that bed and pretend to enjoy something. Now, all I need you to do is leave," she replied, appalling him to his very core.

In all the years he had been a rake, no woman had ever had to pretend to enjoy something. The notion nearly rocked the entire foundation of who he was as he found himself thinking back to the night before, wondering if she had been pretending then. Had she called out his name because she had not been able to help it or because she thought it was what he wanted to hear?

Ridiculous.

He shook off the doubt, for he was fairly certain he would know if a woman was feigning pleasure.

She was wounded because he had said she was not worth breaking the rule for, so she had sought to strike him where she thought it would hurt him in return. And it had almost worked, too.

She is a crafty thing. Far craftier than I have given her credit for.

It should have cooled his desire for her, but it did not. If anything, it made him want to sit her down in the armchair and put his head between those delicious thighs of hers, so he could feel her shake and tremble as he savored her. Her conclusion would not lie, and they would both know she was not feigning anything.

But not tonight. Making her wait would be her punishment for thinking she could use his tricks against him and win.

He bowed his head. "Rest well, wife of mine." He gazed through his lashes at her. "Do not dream too wildly of me, for I would not want your cries of bliss to disturb my slumber."

With that, he opened the adjoining door and returned to his chambers, stepping out of that golden realm and into dull, solitary darkness. It truly was like walking between worlds while temptation continued to claw and scratch at the portal in the middle, demanding his attention. Every sound from beyond had him straining his ears, trying to figure out what she was doing.

As he shed his housecoat and climbed back into bed, hearing the turn of the key in the lock, he knew that he would be just as restless that night.

Not merely because he could not have her or touch her or show her the true breadth of his talents or even say "goodnight" and ensure she was properly tucked into bed, but because a nagging question sat like a barb at the back of his mind.

What is the ‘anything' you would ask for if I broke first?

And now that she seemed determined to remain in his presence, firing him up like the world's most gifted seductress, how long could his willpower truly hold out?