Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

Thorne’s patience was nearing the end of its fuse.

Tucked away in the Egyptian-themed library of Sir Lewis Finch, he paced a small square of carpet, patrolling back and forth. His new boots pinched his feet. His starched cuffs chafed his wrists. Sheer agony was his companion.

And the agony had a name: Colin Sandhurst, Viscount Payne.

“Let me give you a bit of advice,” Payne said.

“I don’t want any more of your advice. Not on this.”

“You don’t want to admit you want it,” Payne replied smoothly. “But I shall talk to myself, and you can merely be nearby, not listening.”

Thorne rolled his eyes. He’d spent the better part of the past several days “nearby, not listening” to Payne. Through shopping trips, appointments with solicitors, lessons on . . . an activity Thorne hated to acknowledge in thought, let alone speak aloud.

Payne tossed back a swallow of his drink and propped one boot on an inscribed sarcophagus. “Before I found Minerva, I’d passed nights with more than my share of women.”

Thorne groaned. Don’t. Just don’t.

“I’ve passed time with duchesses and farm girls, and it doesn’t matter whether their skirts are silk or homespun. Once you get them bare—”

Thorne drew up short. “If you start in on rivers of silk and alabaster orbs, I will have to hit you.”

“Easy, Cinderella,” Payne said, holding up his hands. “All I meant to say is this. Beneath the trappings, all women crave the same thing.”

Thorne made a fist and clenched it until his knuckles cracked.

“What? I’m speaking of tenderness.”

From his chair behind the desk, Bram rubbed his temple. “I think what my cousin is trying to say is, just because she’s Lady Katherine Gramercy now and not Miss Taylor, that doesn’t mean that she’s changed inside.”

Thorne resumed pacing. Perhaps he shouldn’t have told them everything. He’d needed their help, but he hated that they knew he needed it. Feeling weak wasn’t something he was accustomed to, and he didn’t like it. His impulse was to crash through the doors, find his Katie, pick her up in his arms, and carry her away someplace warm and small and safe.

But he couldn’t take her away. That was the whole point of tonight. She had a family now. Not only a family, but a place among the English peerage.

This new life of hers . . . it meant she could never be entirely his. No matter the promises she made about leaving everything behind and sailing with him for America, he knew it couldn’t work that way. As a Gramercy, she was part of a family. As the daughter of a marquess, she would have obligations and duties here. As a lady, she would always be above him—the reminder of it would sit before her name on every letter she received or penned.

He didn’t want to share her. But he must, if he wanted to be a part of her new life. Most of all, he was utterly resolved: He would not bring shame to her, ever.

So tonight he was pacing the library carpet, waiting for his chance. He was hardly Cinderella, but at least he’d wedged his scarred body and ashen soul into a smart new outfit.

From behind the desk, Bram regarded Thorne. “I can’t believe you went to my cousin.”

I can’t believe it, either.

“If you needed anything, Thorne, I would have helped. You need only have asked.”

“You’re busy.”

Payne smiled wryly. “Yes, and I was only on my honeymoon. I had nothing better to do than scrub up a noble savage, take him shopping, and teach him to dance.”

“What?” Bram looked at Thorne in astonishment. “No.”

Thorne turned away.

Bram’s smug inquiries pursued him. “You danced? And Colin gave you lessons?”

“You act as though the pleasure should be mine,” Payne said. “It was rather a trial on my part, I’ll have you know. But thanks to my darling wife’s influence, I’m learning to embrace my academic duty. I’ve long been a scholar of the female sex. Since I’m now happily married and devoted to one particular woman, it would be miserly of me to hoard such accumulated knowledge for myself.”

“No doubt.” Bram laughed. To Thorne, he said, “Good God. If you put up with this for a week, you must really love that girl.”

Payne resumed his suave, professorial demeanor. “It’s like this, Thorne. If you mean to ask for a woman’s heart, you have to be willing to take risks of your own. Real ones. Not just dancing lessons.”

Thorne set his jaw. He’d given up his home for Katie. He’d spent years hungry in the countryside, then hungry in prison, then hungry and marching in the army. “I’ve sacrificed for her. I’ve given her as much as a man like me can give.”

Payne chuckled. “You may think so. But they want everything, man. You can empty your pockets and lay down your body, and they still won’t be satisfied. Not until you serve up your heart, still beating.”

Bram sighed. “Once again, I will translate for my cousin. Just tell Miss Taylor you love her. That’s all they really want to hear.”

Love. It all kept coming back to that word. It would be easy enough to tell Katie he loved her. Speaking the words wasn’t any great task. But to tell her so in a way that made them both believe it . . . that was the challenge.

“Did you want to practice again?” Payne asked.

“No.”

“I don’t mind taking the lady’s part. I’m secure enough in my masculinity.”

“I said no.”

Payne straightened his cravat. “Really, Thorne. I’m only trying to help. ‘No, thank you’ might be more polite.”

“Etiquette isn’t my strong point.”

“Yes, but that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? It’s why you came to me for help. If you mean to win that woman—that lady—and make her your wife, you’ll have to make it your strong point. And quickly.”

Thorne shushed him. The small orchestra had struck up a new tune, and he strained to hear.

“That’s the waltz,” Payne confirmed. “You’re on.”

Bram clapped Thorne on the shoulder. “Go to it, then.”

“No pressure,” Payne said. “It’s only your one chance at happiness, you know. It’s only the rest of your life.”

Thorne cut him a glare as he shouldered open the door. “Not helping.”

As he made his way through the connecting door and down the short stretch of corridor to the ballroom, nerves danced in his gut. But once he spied her at the opposite end, all his anxiety disappeared—replaced by awe.

He hadn’t laid eyes on her in nearly a week.

And he’d never seen her looking like this.

Good God, she was beautiful. She stood in profile to him, deep in conversation with Minerva Highwood, the new Lady Payne. He stopped in his paces a moment, just to drink in the sight of her. And to remember how to breathe.

She wore deep blue silk, the color of fathomless oceans and dark night skies. Set off by the lush fabric, her shoulders were smooth, pale perfection. Tiny brilliants spangled her dark, upswept hair, and satin gloves sheathed her arms to the elbow. He heard the sparkling melody of her laughter float high above the music.

She was too elegant for him, too beautiful for words.

But he’d come this far. He would dare to ask for her anyway.

He started to move. The crowd shifted around him. Across the hall, Katie shifted her weight and swept the room with an unfocused gaze. She looked right through him, with no hint of recognition—then went back to her conversation.

He strode toward her, moving with purpose now.

When he’d covered half the distance, her eyes darted to him again. Once, fleetingly. Then a second time, narrowing. As though she were trying to place him. The wrinkle of her brow was one of mild concern. He could almost hear her thoughts. Who was that hulking, overdressed brute across the ballroom, staring her down?

God. She didn’t know him.

It’s me, Katie. You know me.

Their gazes connected. He felt it in his bones, the moment recognition struck. That sweet jolt of affinity shot down his spine.

Then a waltzing couple twirled between them, blocking his view.

Damn it.

Damn, damn, damn.He had to see her reaction. That was his entire purpose in coming here and making an entrance. How would she greet him? Would it happen this time, at long last?

By the time the waltzers passed, the whole crowd had shifted. He pushed his way through the throng, scanning for her. His heart pounded so fiercely, he thought it would burst.

“Samuel!”

He turned on his boot heel.

There she was, poised on tiptoe, her neck elongated like a swan’s, the better to call over the crowd.

He changed course, veering for her. And stopped, two paces away.

Waiting, with his heart in his throat, to see if she’d light up for him.

She didn’t glow. Her eyes didn’t twinkle. No small flame of joy flickered to life behind her expression.

No, this was so much better than that. It made everything worthwhile—not just the past week, but the lifetime before it.

She went incandescent with the brilliance of a thousand fiery stars.

“Samuel. It’s you.”

Kate struggled to compose herself. He had a lot of nerve, keeping her waiting all this time and then showing up looking like this. He was still his unbearably handsome self, only . . . he was more.

More, in every way.

She could have sworn his new, fashionable Hessians made him a full inch taller. The tight fit of his black tailcoat made his shoulders look a touch more broad. She couldn’t begin to articulate what the clinging buff breeches did for his thighs, or she might suffer an attack of light-headedness.

His hair was clipped with precision, glossed with a touch of pomade. Even from an arm’s length he smelled wonderful—like leather and cologne and clean linen, blended with the essence of raw, manly strength.

Most of all, there was an air about him. It wasn’t quite elegance or refinement, but perhaps . . . self-possession. Purpose. Oh, his face was still hard, and his eyes remained chips of ice. But beneath it all, there was fire.

“Might I have this dance?” he asked. So suavely. The velvet darkness of his voice sent a thrill coursing all the way to her toes.

“I suppose you may.”

What was this game they were playing? Were they supposed to pretend they didn’t know one another? All she wanted to do was fly into his arms.

But she put her hand in his. As he led her to the dance floor, her heart fluttered.

They faced one another, and he fit his hand between her shoulder blades. The expression on his face was so stern.

“You look magnificent,” she whispered. “So handsome.”

She waited for him to compliment her gown or her hair, but she waited in vain. The expression on his face was both intent and somehow uncertain. What did it mean?

“I’ve missed you so much.”

He swung her into the waltz. They moved through several bars of the dance, haltingly. He never said a word.

“Samuel, are you . . . Have you changed your mind?”

He blinked. “About what?”

“About me.”

He frowned at her, as if chiding her for the question. “No.”

She waited for further assurances. He didn’t give them. Her heart began to pound. She didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong.

“If you don’t want to be here,” she said, “I don’t want to force you.”

He made no reply. Except to curtly sigh with impatience and stare at the orchestra.

“Won’t you speak to me? I’ve been waiting for you all week. Hoping all night. I couldn’t believe you would leave me feeling so abandoned, and now you’re finally here—”

“I’ve been here for hours.”

“Then why did you take so long to come find me? Were you ashamed? Uncertain?” Her voice broke. “At least look at me.”

He came to a halt. “Blast. I can’t do this.” He looked about the room, his eyes searching out every possible exit. “We need to talk somewhere, alone.”

Kate struggled to keep her worst fears tightly leashed, but they had tenacity. And sharp teeth.

Perhaps her new identity as a lady was too much for him. Maybe he’d decided he couldn’t be part of her life.

“This way,” he said.

She followed him out the nearest set of doors and down a long paneled corridor, until they passed into Sir Lewis’s famed medieval hall, where the aging antiquarian’s collection of arms and armor was most impressively displayed.

“It’s quiet here,” he said. “And safe.”

Kate supposed it was. On either side of the long, narrow hall a half-dozen suits of ancient armor stood sentry. Like an escort of Arthurian knights, solemnly standing guard on either side of a plush, rose-red carpet.

A pair of wall sconces at either end provided the hall’s only illumination. Candlelight quietly gleamed off the polished suits of centuries-old armor, limning the edges of their swords and the points of their staves.

The setting was either wildly romantic or vaguely threatening.

Samuel motioned for her to sit on a bench nestled into an alcove. The cool stone beneath her thighs made her shiver.

He sat next to her. “Katie, you have to let me explain.”

“Please do. If you’ve been here at Summerfield for hours, why didn’t you come to me at once? Why did you make me wait all night?”

“You want the truth?”

“Always.”

“Because I can’t dance. I only had time to learn the waltz. I couldn’t come claim you for the gavotte or the sarabande. I had to stand in the library like a damned fool and wait for the orchestra to play the one dance I knew.”

Her heart twisted in her chest. “Oh.”

“And I couldn’t even manage it. For Christ’s sake, it shouldn’t be more difficult than marching, should it? Payne told me not to stare at my feet, but . . .”

“Oh, Samuel.”

“But you looked so lovely. Every thought went right out of my head.”

Now everything made sense. This explained his stern, uncertain expression and his refusal to speak or look at her. He’d been trying so hard to keep step with the dance, he hadn’t been able to spare concentration for niceties.

And did he say Lord Payne had advised him? Samuel despised Lord Payne. But he’d sought the man’s help. He’d asked for dancing lessons.

Heavens. He could have spelled out his love for her in fifty-foot letters, right on the hillside beside the Long Man of Wilmington, and it wouldn’t have been any more obvious.

Those clear blue eyes sought hers, shining true through the dark. “Look at me. This is who you’ll be stuck with, Katie. A clumsy oaf who can’t count to three in his head and tell you you’re beautiful at the same time. What the hell are you doing with me?”

“I’m in love with you, you foolish man. Falling deeper every moment.” She let her brow fall to his chest and listened sharp for the deep, steady beat of his heart. “I know you love me. You don’t have to say it. I can feel it. I know.”

He drew a ragged breath. “Katie, you know the life I’ve led. It’s been brutish and bloody and cruel, and I don’t know that I can ever give you the kind of tenderness you deserve. You tell me I love you . . . but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t understand what the word even meant, or how a man like me could ever feel such a thing.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “I don’t need the words.”

“I brought some words anyhow.” He stared into her eyes. His gaze was a breathtaking, penetrating blue. “ ‘Love is composed of a single soul, inhabiting two bodies.’ ”

“Samuel, that’s . . .” Her voice broke. “That’s absolutely beautiful.”

“It’s Aristotle. I did some reading.”

Oh. He’d done some reading. Kate’s heart was doing some wrenching and aching.

“I never thought Greek philosophy could make a damn bit of sense to me. And most of it didn’t, but those words just seemed right. ‘Love is composed of a single soul, inhabiting two bodies.’ ” He took her by the shoulders, drawing her close. “It rang true for me, in a way nothing else did. Whatever soul I had, Katie, I think I placed it in your keeping twenty years ago. And now, it’s as if . . . every time we kiss, you give a little piece of it back.”

She nuzzled his smoothly shaven cheek, inhaling the rich fragrance of his skin. Shaving soap and his natural musk and just the slightest hint of cologne.

He raised his head. “But I don’t want you giving anything up for me. I want you to have this life. This family. Your birthright. You are a lady, and I’m no gentleman.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she protested, feeling a sudden stab of panic. “It will never matter. You’re a good man. The best man I know.”

“You need a husband who is a gentleman. One who understands your new life, and all its demands. A man who can be your partner in society and help manage your inheritance.”

“But I don’t want any—”

“I mean to be that man, Katie. Or I mean to become him, as best I can.”

Her heart swelled in her chest. “What do you mean?”

“The waltzing was only a part of it. I’ve spent the past several days in London, with Lord Payne. He’s arranged for me to have some instruction from his land stewards at Riverchase. I understand game and horses and the run of the earth, but I need to learn how to manage crops, handle tenants. I thought you might have some property come to you, and I—”

“Eight,” she said. “Evan told me just today. I have eight properties, scattered all over England. I’m terrified.”

He swallowed hard. “I suppose I’d better learn fast.”

“I think we both had better.” She tried to smile.

He pulled away, putting distance between them, and withdrew something from his pocket, wrapped in a bit of black velvet. As he unfolded the small square of fabric, his fingers were unsteady. Finally, his thumb and forefinger closed on a slender edge of metal and he shook his treasure loose from one last fold of velvet.

He held it out to her. “I didn’t know what to choose for you, but I didn’t want another man choosing for you, either. So I just looked through the trays until I saw one that looked fine enough for your finger.”

She looked down at the gold band in his hand, embedded with small round diamonds. In the center was mounted a square-cut, faceted stone in the palest shade of pink.

“Will it do?” he asked.

“Oh, Samuel. It’s too much. This must have cost a fortune.”

“Not a fortune.” His mouth pulled to the side in a self-effacing way. “Just most of what I had left to my name, after the commission and this.” He indicated his new coat and boots.

“The commission?”

“A captaincy. Rycliff’s arranged for me to purchase one. He offered to pay for it himself, but I couldn’t accept that. Katie, I’ll give you everything I can—all that I am, and all I possess—but you must take me at my own worth.”

Kate found herself without words. His own worth? This man was priceless.

If she’d tried, she could not have written a more perfect ending to this evening. They would be married and stay in England. She would be able to live with Samuel and help her new family.

He went down on one knee before her. The ring glittered on his palm. His face was grim with uncertainty. “Will you wear it? Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes, of course.” She tugged off her gloves. “Put it on for me, please. My fingers will tremble.”

His hands were none too steady, either. But he took her hand and slid the gold band over her finger.

“It fits perfectly,” she said.

“And it looks almost deserving of you.” He took her hand in both of his and stroked it gently. “I’ve only ever seen one proper wedding. What’s that word, in the vows . . . to cherish? I will cherish you, Katie. Every day of my life. You’re the most precious thing I’ve ever held.”

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I will cherish every inch of you.”

With tender, careful brushes of his lips, he kissed each of her fingers. He turned her hand palm up and placed a warm, open-mouthed kiss to the center. His lips brushed the pulse at her wrist, then worked slowly higher. By the time he progressed halfway up her forearm, she was trembling with pleasure and a lifetime of need.

“Samuel? If you wanted to stop cherishing and start ravishing . . . I’d be most amenable.”

He froze, lips pressed to her skin. “After the wedding,” he told the inside of her elbow.

She reached for him, putting her fingers under his smooth-shaven jaw and pulling his gaze to hers. “I’d prefer now.”

She bent at the waist, catching his stunned, parted lips in a kiss. But she couldn’t get close enough this way. So she slid from the bench and joined him on the carpet, twining her fingers into his freshly clipped hair as she kissed him deep.

He moaned with pleasure, and she slid her hands beneath the lapels of his coat, running her palms over the cool silk of his waistcoat. She found the closures in front. Such tiny buttons for such a large, powerful man. How did he ever manage them?

But they were no trouble for her fingers. She dispatched them with all the ease of a nursery rhyme. One, two, three . . . four.

Then she divided the sides of his waistcoat and placed her hands flat on his shirtfront, rubbing the crisp linen between her palms and his hardened, muscled chest. His heartbeat thudded against her palm, and she pressed her hand there, holding it close.

When they’d been together the first time, there was something he’d held back. Tonight, she needed to know he could give her everything. That here, in this hall lined with suits of armor, he’d lain down all his own shields. She wanted . . . she wanted something that sounded pagan and savage. To hold his heart—his warm, beating, pure and good heart—in her hands.

He dropped his head, nuzzling her throat and slipping his tongue into the valley between her breasts.

“Don’t stop,” she begged.

It was the wrong thing to say. He stopped and lifted his head.

“We should go back.”

“No,” she insisted, pressing her body to his. “Not yet. Please.”

Kate’s own brazenness shocked even her. He’d given her such lovely words, but she needed to feel the strength and purpose behind them. “I want you so badly, Samuel. I want you to make love to me.”

After a thoughtful moment, he placed a hand to her cheek. He tilted her face to receive his kiss. “That I can do.”

He kissed her sweetly, once.

That was all the sweetness he had left. The second kiss was deep, demanding, thorough, and wild. Their tongues clashed and dueled as they fought to get closer.

While Thorne explored her mouth, he laid her back on the plush velvet carpeting and worked his hand under her skirts. They were on the floor, in the middle of Sir Lewis Finch’s medieval hall, while a ball went on mere steps away.

The wise man would have hurried, or put a stop to this entirely. But he meant to take his time. This wasn’t a hasty, scandalous tryst.

This was making love.

As he lifted her blue silk skirts, he took care to arrange the folds carefully so they wouldn’t wrinkle any more than necessary. He bunched the petticoats strategically, baring her legs.

Thank God. She wore no drawers.

He needn’t have removed her stockings, but he couldn’t resist. The garters taunted him with neat ribbon bows.

He undid them with his teeth. After easing one silk stocking down her smooth, taut thigh and shapely calf, he was filled with sorrow to reach her neatly turned toes. Then his spirits were buoyed when he realized he could immediately repeat the experience with her other leg.

Once he had the second bared, he placed a kiss to the tender arch of her foot. He worked his way upward, ignoring her little twitches and protestations when he licked the inside of her knee or the slope of her inner thigh. He had some tickling to repay.

By the time he reached the cleft of her sex, she was writhing, eager for his kiss. Her folds glistened in the dim light. He loved knowing anticipation worked just as well as application. He rewarded her patience with a single, lazy, savoring pass of his tongue. She whimpered, arching in a plea for more.

He sat back on his haunches, hurriedly unbuttoning his trouser falls while he drank in the view of her pale, sprawled legs and the dark triangle of curls guarding her sex. There was something unspeakably arousing about this perspective. From her waist up she was poised, elegant, perfect. A lady. From the waist down she was nothing but pure, natural woman.

And she belonged to him. All of her.

He freed his erection, already rock-hard and pulsing.

She bent one leg at the knee, opening herself in invitation.

He couldn’t refuse.

With care not to crush her skirts, he settled into the cradle of her thighs and positioned himself at her warm, wet entrance. He told himself to go slow, to not hurt her. But she tilted her hips, and he slid straight in.

Sweet mercy.

She was tight, yes. But not guarded or clenching in pain. She was perfect, and he fitted himself deep, sinking in all the way to the root. The soft welcome he found made him want to never leave.

“Yes,” she sighed.

He began to thrust slowly, steadily—knowing that this was a race more easily won at a walk than a gallop. Drawing on all the self-control he possessed, he kept his pace unhurried, reveling in each easy glide, every silken inch.

Beneath him, she sighed and moaned, climbing closer and closer to release.

All too soon, Thorne felt himself approaching that dangerous edge. Slipping closer and closer to the unknown. If he fell over the brink, he wasn’t sure what he’d do.

Panic built in his chest. He should withdraw. He should protect her.

She seemed to sense his struggle. One of her warm, slender legs wrapped over his.

“Don’t leave me,” she said. “I want all of you. Everything you have to give.”

Her words spurred him faster. Soon his hips were bucking with force, slapping against her thighs. The edge was near, and he raced toward it—for good or ill, determined not to hold anything back.

She cried out and clung to his neck, arching her back in the throes of bliss. He felt the sharp bite against his nape. Not her fingernails, no. His ring, on her finger. A razor edge of bliss.

He couldn’t last long now. The climax built in his loins and the base of his spine. Pleasure surged through his veins as he pumped hard and fast. He was wild to get closer, deeper. So deep, where it would be safe.

He forced himself to keep his eyes open, focused on her face. She would be his anchor if he found himself flung somewhere else.

“God, Katie. Hold on to me. Tight.”

She held him, and the climax seized him, too. And he did find himself flung somewhere else. But it wasn’t a land of shadows and smoke and explosion. Instead, he found a landscape of luminous skin and perfect pink lips and eyes so wide and so deep, they were seas of love. Here, he was reasonably certain hearts had wings. He intended to make many return trips.

Above all, it was beautiful. It was so beautiful, he could have wept.

He wouldn’t have wept alone. As he slowed to a stop, a few tears glistened on her cheeks. He didn’t worry about them, just kissed them away.

“I love you, too,” she said.

He lifted his head, surprised. “Did I say it?”

She smiled. “Only several times.”

“Oh. Then good.” He kissed her again. “I felt it enough for a thousand.”

She stroked his hair, and he allowed himself a few moments’ rest, nestled close to her bosom. If he had to be a broken, fragmented man, liable to slip into strange territories from time to time and be unaware of his actions—he was glad to know he could do something good and loving on occasion.

“We should be getting back,” he said, withdrawing from her embrace. “I should speak with Drewe.”

“Kate?” The deep, masculine voice came from the corridor. “Kate, are you down here?”

Damn, damn, damn.Speak of the devil.

Thorne didn’t panic. He rose and pulled Katie to her feet, moments before Drewe entered the room. As she stood, her carefully draped skirts fell naturally to the floor. No one would have known what had just gone on beneath them.

“We’re in here, Drewe,” Thorne called, trying to make his voice nonchalant.

“We?” Drewe asked, striding into the room.

Thorne tried to be calm as he buttoned his falls. He knew the shadows would hide him for a few moments, as Drewe’s eyes adjusted to the candlelight.

Just one more closure . . .

Then the coat buttons. Drewe was halfway to them now.

One more button. There.

“Drewe.” Thorne bowed. “I was looking for you.”

The marquess eyed him warily. “Kate, what’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing.”

Her protests were a little too strenuous for Thorne’s liking, and Drewe was definitely suspicious. But he was reasonably certain they’d managed to cover any real evidence.

That was, until Drewe’s gaze fell to the two discarded stockings on the floor.

Damn.

In the dark, his eyes flashed with unholy rage. “You rutting bastard,” he seethed. “I’ll kill you.”