The Complete Regency Surrender Collection

Chapter Eleven

Justine pulled a row of pins and undid the last few knots of the lace on her pillow, so that she might fix the mistakes she’d made when she’d lost concentration. Perhaps she should ask Will to read Walter Scott tonight, especially the bit about tangled webs and deception. Of course, a dishonest woman in that story had ended up walled alive in an abbey. In her current frame of mind, that story would not be light entertainment.

‘You are sure there is nothing you can recall about the accident that might make things clearer.’

Since she was making the story up as she went, she doubted that she had the detail he was hoping for. ‘I was not close enough to see. And it all happened too fast.’ He had been questioning her all through dinner about the past. After nearly two hours, he was no closer to what he expected to hear, but she balanced on the edge of a knife.

He was silent for a moment and she took the opportunity to turn the tables on him. ‘In my opinion, it is fortunate that you do not remember. Suppose it had come upon you suddenly and given you a turn. It was very dangerous to ride at all. What if something had happened and you had fallen again?’

Now he was the one who was uncomfortable, squirming in his seat like a guilty little boy.

She looked up from her work, too surprised to remember the role she was playing. ‘You fell again, didn’t you?’

‘It was nothing,’ he replied hurriedly. ‘I was back on my feet as soon as I regained my wind. But it makes me all the more confused at what caused the earlier accident.’

‘I do not know why I bothered to nurse you, if you use your recovery foolishly.’ Was this real alarm she was feeling at the thought of him lying hurt again? It was always sad when a man so young and alive met with a tragic accident. But when had it begun to matter to her?

He was at her side now, full of apology. ‘If it bothers you, I will take no more chances. Adam’s horse is a brute. I will not take him out again.’ He knelt in front of her now, until he was sure that he had caught her eye. ‘Am I forgiven?’

‘Of course,’ she said, trying and failing for her usual calm smile.

‘Very good,’ he said, then stared down at the work in her lap. She resumed her knotting, and he watched, fascinated by the rhythmic click and switch of the bone bobbins, the exactitude of pins and the slow but steady increase in finished work. ‘What are you making?’ he asked at last, unable to contain his curiosity.

‘I do not know, as of yet,’ she said. ‘A bit of trim for something. It is an old pattern and I do not have to think to work it. But it makes up very pretty.’

‘If you do not know what it is for, then why are you doing it?’

‘To keep my hands busy,’ she said. ‘Idle hands are the devil’s playthings, after all.’

‘Have you given thought to my suggestion of last night?’

She frowned, trying to remember what it was that he had said.

‘When I told you to make something for yourself,’ he said. ‘A tucker for that bodice, perhaps.’ He was staring at her breasts.

She placed a hand on her chest to hide them. ‘I am sorry if the gown is too low. I will change, if you wish.’

He pulled her hand away, wrapping the fingers with his. ‘There is nothing wrong with the dress, other than that it is rather plain. Not that you need to adorn yourself, to be more beautiful,’ he added hurriedly. ‘It simply surprises me that you do not treat yourself as you do others.’

She nodded, relieved that she had done nothing to offend. ‘It is such a large amount of work, if it is only to go for me.’

He thought for a moment. ‘Then you must make something for me,’ he said.

At this, she let out one small laugh, before stifling the emotion so as not to seem disagreeable. ‘Now you are being silly. Men do not wear lace such as this.’

He walked to her side and reached into her work basket, removing a particularly feminine scrap and draping it over his wrist. ‘Perhaps I shall create a fashion for it. Can you not see me in a neckcloth trimmed in birds and butterflies?’

‘I cannot,’ she said, without looking up.

‘Then you must make something for yourself, as a gift for me. I wish to see you adorned in lace, as I said last night.’ Then he draped it over the bare skin of her shoulder, admiring the flesh through the holes in the cloth.

The gentle brush on her shoulder seemed to strike at the very heart of her. Her breath caught in her throat and the room seemed strangely warm. She shrugged to get free of it. ‘I do not think it would suit me.’

‘It is not as beautiful as you are,’ he admitted. ‘But it is lovely all the same.’

This time, it was his words that stopped her breath. He had complimented her before. Why did it matter now?

He trailed the lace up the length of her arm. ‘When we married, did you not promise to obey?’

‘Yes.’ She almost whispered the word. Even for this man, would she ever have the courage to make such a promise, knowing what it might entail?

He smiled, triumphant. ‘Then I should like to see you wear lace. Not all the time. But often enough to prove you understand your own worth. If you will not make it for yourself, I shall buy it for you. Yards and yards of it.’

‘Now, that is certainly a waste,’ she said, imagining what such foolishness was likely to cost, compared with the work she might do for the cost of thread, was she willing to take the time.

‘It would be worth it to me,’ he said, ‘if it meant that I might see you dressed head to toe in nothing but that.’

If the idea had ever occurred to her before, she had set it aside as the kind of sinfully decadent thing a kept woman might do. That was reason enough to avoid it. It was less pleasant than one might expect to spend days parading about the shop in jewels like a mannequin brought to life. It was even worse to spend her evenings dressed as an object of desire.

But that had been when she was with Montague. Why was it strangely appealing when the man making the request was Will Felkirk? ‘It would not be very practical,’ she said at last. ‘Too likely to tear.’

‘I would remove it carefully,’ he assured her.

Her heart was beating fast now and she could feel her skin flushing, as though she was already displayed before him in a transparent gown. ‘It would take months to make a whole chemise,’ she said, hoping that might settle the matter.

He pretended to frown at this. But she could see the smile playing at the corner of his lips, as though her perfectly sensible response had amused him. Then he trailed the lace lightly across the back of her hand, up her arm and away, to hold it in front of her face. ‘Perhaps you could make a veil.’ He peered through it at her. ‘Did you wear one at our wedding?’

‘No,’ she whispered.

He nodded, ‘Because you had nothing to hide. But I can imagine it, all the same.’ He dragged the lace across her face, covering her eyes like a mask. Then he lowered it to cover her mouth. ‘Do you know there are cultures in the East where women hide their faces beneath veils from all but their husbands?’ He raised his eyes above the edge and gave her an arch look.

‘You would not expect that of me,’ she said, surprised.

‘It would be selfish of me to obscure such a face,’ he said. ‘Besides, you are almost too modest already, without my encouraging. You have no idea how arousing it is to see you so prim and proper, knowing what you keep concealed beneath your gown.’ He sighed then and kissed her through the lace. It was worthy of the innocence of the decoration, a simple touch of lip to lip through the barrier that separated them. There was nothing dangerous or demanding about it.

But her reaction to it was a surprise. She pressed her mouth into the fabric in eager response, her tongue licking at it as though she expected it to dissolve like spun sugar. That was what she wanted. A hint of sweetness, then a long, hot, meeting of mouths and tongues.

Did he share her feelings? Perhaps not. He lingered there, for a moment, then pressed a closed-mouthed kiss on to each of her closed eyes before dropping the lace back into the basket.

He smiled, as if he had discovered a secret. ‘It is just as I thought. Your beauty does not need gilding, but a touch of your own handiwork makes you all the more alluring. Now promise me that the next thing you make will be a gift for yourself.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered. It was an answer to a question he had not asked.

‘Very good,’ he said and stood up again. Then he yawned as he had the previous evening. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, this conversation has put me in a mood to retire early.’ Perhaps he had understood, for the smile he gave her was warm and so full of confidence that it made her blush. ‘You may join me at your leisure.’ When he turned to leave, he barely needed the support of his cane.

She waited until she was sure he had gained the stairs before beginning to pack up her work for the night. She would lie with him tonight, if he wished it. She could not play the role of wife to him without submitting to his desires. It was what he expected. Montague expected it as well. But what had she wanted, when she had first come here?

Nothing more than to be left alone. She wanted to be able to decide for herself what her future held. Instead, she had become an obedient servant to another man. He was kinder than the first. More handsome as well. They shared interests. And they understood each other, or would, if she allowed him to know more of her.

But if she allowed him to know all? Then whatever they shared would be over, as quickly as it had begun. His gentle seduction and caring ways would disappear once he realised that she was another man’s cast off. Worse yet, that she was still that man’s property, set in Will’s house as a spy.

She set the needlework basket beneath her chair, where it would be ready for the next night. She took one last glance at the bit of lace that Will had held, before closing the top of the basket to hide it. It would be wise to shut her dreams away as well, for they would only lead to heartbreak in the end. She would lie with him tonight, as he expected. He deserved her obedience for what he was doing to help Margot, even if he did not understand the urgency of it. But there was no point in investing the act with hopes and plans that would all come to nothing.

Chapter Twelve

She went to her room and summoned the maid to prepare her for bed. She looked at the simple gown laid out for her and thought with distaste of the more daring garments she had left behind in Bath. It was something of that sort that Will expected to see. If this charade continued, she would purchase new ones that were free of memories of her old life.

She donned the gown and refused the nightcap, since he had expressed his dislike of it the previous evening, and requested only a loose braid in her hair. All things would be as he wished. Then she dismissed her maid and went through the door connecting their rooms, shutting it softly behind her.

Tonight, he was just as he had been the night before, leaning against the headboard and waiting for her. He smiled as she entered the room, and moved on the mattress to give her space. As she approached, he gave a single disappointed glance at the gown she was wearing.

Without a second thought, she removed it, draped it over the foot of the bed and climbed naked into the bed beside him. Then she very deliberately rubbed her bare leg against his in a way guaranteed to arouse him.

She felt him start and pull away. For a moment, it almost seemed that he would climb from the opposite side of the bed to get away from her.

She made to withdraw. ‘If you do not want...’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I mean, yes. Stay. Just like this.’ He had relaxed again, drawing her closer, wrapping his arms about her so her breasts pressed into his side. ‘It is just that, as I have told you before, there is no need to rush.’

‘Oh,’ she said, trying not to sound vexed. In her opinion, just the opposite was true. The sooner they were done, the sooner she could put aside the disquieting feelings he raised in her, and restore peace to her mind.

He took a breath. ‘And I must be truthful. After last night, I am somewhat concerned about the way things might proceed this evening.’

‘Did I do something to displease you?’ she said, searching her brain for an answer.

‘No,’ he said hurriedly and touched her chin with a fingertip, tipping her head up to offer a long, slow kiss. When they parted, he spoke again. ‘Perhaps I did not make myself clear this morning. Last night, you were all I could have hoped for. It is obvious that you know how to pleasure me.’

She nodded in agreement. She had taken a portion of the day to search his rooms for some clue to the diamonds. She had found nothing exceptional, other than a collection of rather risqué etchings in the table by the bedside, that might serve as instruction should she need to maintain his interest in her.

‘I am ashamed for ever doubting you,’ he said. ‘Your beauty is unparallelled. Your devotion to me unwavering. And last night? Your touch was heaven. Though I cannot remember what was in our past, I have no trouble imagining our future together.’

‘Then you have no reason for concern,’ she said, trying to empty her mind of anything but the moment. Tempting as it was, she dare not think such things herself. If she stayed, disaster was almost inevitable. But there was something very unnerving about the way he reached to the core of her heart when he spoke.

‘I do,’ he insisted. ‘While you know just what it is that I enjoy, I still cannot remember the details of our life together.’

‘What do you wish to know?’

‘For example, I do not know if you prefer the left side of the bed, or the right.’

‘The left,’ she said automatically. Then she remembered that it would have been better to allow him to choose.

‘Which is where you are now,’ he said, satisfied. ‘Perhaps I do remember, for it feels very natural to have you here.’

He was probably confusing her with someone else who had shared his bed. The thought was strangely annoying. But if he was happy, then what did it matter?

‘And last night,’ he said cautiously. ‘We have done that before, I assume.’

‘Something similar,’ she admitted, not wanting to think how she had gained her knowledge of the male anatomy.

‘It has been some time since I have truly felt myself. You must forgive me if, for any reason, I am not the man I was.’

‘It will not matter,’ she said and then lied through her teeth. ‘You are still my husband.’

‘As your husband, I owe you what you have given to me,’ he said firmly. ‘I am sorry,’ he said with a sad smile, ‘that I cannot remember the details of it.’

The conversation was beginning to worry her. If their bed became a place for talk, and the sharing of secrets, she would soon make a slip that could not be explained away. Better to distract him with her body, as she had last night, and save conversation for breakfast, when she had her wits about her. ‘The past does not matter,’ she said. ‘Only the present. And your happiness.’ She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging kiss and ran a hand down his body to be sure he was ready. Then, she stretched out on her back, legs sprawled, waiting.

He remained, propped on his elbow, watching her. Then he cleared his throat. ‘This is embarrassing to admit. But you will know soon enough, so I had best simply put it out there. I do not remember how to love you.’ He had paused before he said it, sounding almost sincere in his apprehension.

She rolled on to her elbow to stare back at him.

‘You have forgotten how to...’ Was that even a thing that could be forgotten? How was she to describe it to him without resulting to crass gestures and words that no lady should know?

He laughed, relaxed on to the mattress and reached for her, rolling her so that her body was on top of his. The suddenness of it left her breathless. ‘Clearly, I married you not for your extreme beauty, but for your sense of humour. I am not so damaged that I could forget that, Justine. And you should know by now that some parts of the act are autonomic.’

He meant the erection pressing into her belly as she moved on top of him. As she slid her bare leg against his it grew even harder. She felt a sudden, nervous swooping in the pit of her stomach, at the thought of it, sliding into her body. She wet her lips. ‘I am aware of that.’

‘My response to you is not at issue. You are a beautiful woman. If there is strength in my body to act at all, I will know how to take pleasure in you.’

She nodded. What man did not know how to take from a woman, without thinking?

He smiled and kissed her again, short and quick. ‘What I do not remember is how to make love to you. As opposed to some other woman, I mean. I do not remember the things that are most important, the things that make you different from all others. I have forgotten how to give you pleasure.’

Help my sister. Give me the diamonds. Let me leave. Those things above all others would be the best way to make her happy. But that was not what he was wondering about. ‘If you are pleased, then I shall be as well,’ she said, straddling him and hoping that this would be enough to end the talking so that they might commence and be done with it, before she lost her nerve. She gave a nudge with her hips, then she set about clearing her mind, forcing herself to relax so that he might enter her easily. Better to think of nothing at all, during the act, than the disquieting thoughts he insisted on raising in her. She wanted to be in another world entirely: a garden, the sea. Anywhere but in a bed feeling lips and skin, and the loss of her own will.

Still, he did not move, other than to shift the thing growing between them to a more comfortable position. ‘Anything I like?’ he repeated, with a sigh. ‘So you said, last night. And this morning as well. While what happened last night was very nice—’

She frowned. It had been better than nice. She had been sure of it.

‘—tonight, I am seeking mutual pleasure.’ He gave her a wicked grin. ‘Ladies first, as they say. Now, where would you like me to start?’

She closed her eyes tight, not wanting to see his expectant look. He could not possibly understand what he was asking of her. It was taking all her skill to remain calm and not succumb to the things he wished from her. Did she truly have to explain to him that kisses and petting were unnecessary, once they had got to this stage? Did he mean to paw at her breasts, trying to arouse her before pushing himself into her and having his way? To feel pleasure from such a thing, when one had no choice in partners, was the definition of defeat.

‘My elbow,’ she said, hoping that the sarcasm would put a stop to the questions.

‘Your elbow.’ Without hesitation, he reached for her arm.

She pulled it away. ‘The left one. Not the right.’

He laughed. ‘I do not know how I could have forgotten.’ He cupped it in his palm and yanked her forward, so she was stretched the length of his body. Then he pulled her bent arm to his lips.

‘What are you doing?’ she said, unsure whether to laugh or scream. But it was obvious what he was doing. His tongue was circling the little round knob of bone now, as his whole mouth closed over it, sucking and laving as though it were her nipple.

‘Exactly what you asked,’ he said, blowing on the skin. ‘Although it hardly seems fair to ignore your other arm.’ His fingers were toying with that, giving a sharp pinch before running the nail lightly back and forth along the skin.

It was too ridiculous to be angry with him. And to her surprise, it was rather pleasant. When he pressed in a certain way, there was an occasional tingle of the nerves beneath that made her breasts tighten as they rubbed against the hair on his chest.

He paused. ‘Was that what you meant? Or perhaps you meant the inside of your arm,’ He turned his head and buried it in the crook of her arm.

Now this was something quite different. The deep, open-mouthed contact reminded her of something. One of the pictures in the etching book had held her attention for some time. A man’s head rested between a woman’s legs. He could not be emulating that, could he?

But he was the one who had the book. And he was nipping at the skin of her arm as though trying to take a pinch of it between his teeth. Now his tongue was working, probing, hard against soft, as though he meant to lose himself in her flesh...

‘Oh, God.’ Had she actually said that and in such a gasping, desperate voice? Because at the thought of his tongue, and what it could do, she was as wet between her legs as if he had licked her. His member rested between her thighs and she squirmed against it, not sure if she was trying to resist or encourage. ‘I was not serious,’ she whispered, wishing he would stop, but fearing it as well.

He paused for a moment, looking up at her with a smile. ‘I know. But a woman who teases will be teased in return. It is fair, is it not?’ He rested a thumb where his mouth had been and turned to her right arm.

She moaned in response and circled her hips, rubbing against him to spread the moisture and the sensations that came with it. It was not supposed to be like this. She was sure of it. The detachment she needed to maintain her sanity was melting like spring snow.

She was losing her mind over nothing at all. The only contact between the most intimate parts of their bodies was the result of her urging. And urge she did, wanting desperately to break his resolve as she had last night.

He paused again, dropping a brief kiss on to the skin of her forearm. ‘My memory returns, I think. You like this as well, do you not?’ Suddenly, he dropped his hands to her legs and pulled them up, until her body spread over his. Then he ran his fingers slowly over the skin at the back of her bent knees.

She gripped the pillow on either side of his head with clenched fists. Of their own volition, her hips bucked against his. His touch should be harmless, but her body was on fire, burning up with the need to be filled. And still he did not advance.

She forgot her need to be passive, the importance of compliance and the need to keep herself apart and safe. She released the pillow and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. But he continued to tease her, running the tip of his tongue along the edge of her teeth and going no further. His fingers played at the back of her legs, stroking at the crease in the skin until all she could think of was his hand between her legs.

She rubbed her body against his, needing the contact, the touch of his tip against the nub of pleasure hidden in the folds of her body. And suddenly she was as far away from her fears as she had ever longed to be. There was no peace here, no separation from the needs of her body. There was only the wildest kind of pleasure, pounding blood, beating heart and the trembling of each ecstatic muscle. Somewhere, in a very distant place, she was begging for more, calling him her beloved, Will, William, Will.

When he was slow to respond, she pushed away from him, reached down, gripped his manhood and impaled herself on it, soaring even higher as he thrust within her. She held him close with arms and legs and the very centre of her being.

When had she ever felt like this before? It was if her body was one with his, feeling that rush of release that men seemed to crave above all things. He was already spent when she came back to earth again, sinking slowly down the length with a sigh, too weak to move.

He took the opportunity to roll her to the left side of the bed again, the one she preferred. Then he followed her, burying his face against her breasts and taking the nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking. His fingertips played over her body with feather-light touches, stroking her shoulders, her calves, and slipping between her legs. Before she could protest, she was flying again, not as high as she had, but flying all the same, then settling gently back down to see Will’s smiling face, close to hers.

‘Justine,’ he whispered. ‘Justine. If you were not already mine, I would have to make you so, after this night. How could I have lived, before I met you? And how could I go on without you?’

‘You will not have to,’ she whispered. ‘I am yours, for now, and for ever.’ It was good, for a change, to be speaking the truth to him, for that was what this was. She knew not how, but she would make it so. Diamonds or no diamonds, she would be William Felkirk’s wife.

* * *

Will stared at the ceiling through half-closed eyes. How good it was to feel this way again, exhausted from lovemaking, half-sleeping, half-waking, with a beautiful woman in his arms. Justine lay curled beside him, sweet and soft as a kitten, her face pressed against his shoulder as if she had fallen asleep in the middle of a kiss.

He was struck, once again, by how unexpected she was. If he’d had to envision the woman he would take as his wife, she would not have been it. He rather thought he’d have ended up with one of the giggling chits at Almack’s. Though empty headed, they seemed the most logical choice. He would choose the least annoying of the bunch and marry her. They would be seen around London together, travelling in a smart set, going to parties, dinners, musicals and balls. Eventually, there would be children.

But this girl? Empty headed was the last thing he’d have thought to call her. There was a sense that something was going on, running deep, like the proverbial still waters. But on the surface, there was the quiet of an undisturbed pond. Did she like parties, games and dancing? If so, she did not say.

She liked marmalade and novels. And him. He smiled. In her company, he found an unexpected joy in quiet. The sight of her in his sitting room, in her plain cap, bent over her needlework was a study in contrast. It made him want to uncover the beauty beneath the simple gown and peel back the linen covering her hair, so that he might kiss it.

To find her so willing in his bed, and so bold... He felt another rush of emotion. Desire. Possessiveness. Was it too soon to claim this as love? Had he known her for months, or less than a week?

Or had he known her for ever and spent his life waiting for the moment they might be together? Common sense told him he could not feel love after so short a time in her company. But his heart announced that, in this case, common sense was wrong. There was nothing common about the sensations he felt, when with her. And after tonight, he knew she felt the same when she was with him.

He laid a hand on her hip, smoothing over the curve. As he watched her, she twitched in his arms, went rigid, shuddered, then was still for a moment before going rigid again. Was it a dream? Apparently so, for she did not open her eyes as she tossed her head from side to side as though trying to escape from something or someone. To comfort her, he held her tighter. She jerked away and said, quite plainly, ‘Don’t touch me. Never again.’ Then she sat up, suddenly awake. She gasped for air as though she had been running and looked wildly around her for a moment.

He carefully withdrew his hand from her body. Did his touch frighten her? She had not been bothered by it a few hours before. ‘You are safe, Justine. It was only a dream.’

She looked at him for a moment, unable to recognise him. She shrank away from him, wrapping her arms around her body, looking smaller and more helpless than he had seen her.

‘It was a dream,’ he repeated.

‘Only a dream,’ she repeated. Then her eyes focused on him and she smiled in relief.

‘Do you wish to tell me about it? Sometimes it helps to take away the fear.’

‘No!’ She shuddered again, then carefully composed herself to show him the usual, placid smile. But it was only an illusion, for her hair still hung damp with sweat on her face and her limbs trembled with suppressed energy.

‘Very well,’ he said, in a soft calming voice. ‘But know that you needn’t be afraid, as long as I am here.’

‘Of course not,’ she said, although she did not sound convinced. Was it nothing more than fantasy? Or was there something in her past that gave her a reason to fear? Life was not always kind to women who were poor and alone. Men could be predatory and a weak girl would not be able to protect herself. Whatever it was, it was clearly no fault of hers, for when he looked at her in the candlelight he could not imagine a more innocent creature. He patted the mattress.’ Lay back down beside me. Let me hold you. I will make everything better.’

She did as he bade her, relaxing into his arms as the tension drained from her body. He smoothed her hair away from her face and kissed her temples. ‘There, see? Nothing to be afraid of.’

She sighed. ‘This feels so good.’ She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder again. ‘I could sleep here and never wake.’

‘Do not say that,’ he said, tipping her chin up so he could look in her eyes. ‘Do not even think it. Now that I have found you, I do not want to lose you so soon.’

She blinked slowly and, for a moment, he thought that she might be about to cry. But when she spoke, there was no trace of a sob in her voice. ‘I am sorry if I frighten you. But in my life, until now, there has not been such happiness. Some of the things in my past, before I met you...were very difficult.’

Difficult. It was said in her quiet, unassuming way, as though she might not truly understand the meaning of the word. Where she might say difficult, another might speak of horror and bear scars greater than the one on his arm that she was now stroking. Do not touch me? They were the words of someone who had been beaten, or violated. All the more reason for him to be gentle with her and treat her like the treasure she was.