He knew just by being in her presence that Vivian was hoping he’d talk about himself and his past, about Elizabeth, her death and his trial for her murder. She was curious, not just in the manner as gossips from the town, but also as if she actually found it possible that he might not be as evil as society described him, wanting to judge the facts for herself. But even if that possibility warmed him inside, he still found it difficult to consider discussing it. He’d never felt close enough to anyone to bring the accusations, and his trial, into casual conversation, and as it had been the most difficult and emotional challenge of his entire life, he tried like hell to put that part of his past behind him in an attempt to forget it had ever happened. Not that his good intentions toward forgetting came to pass. Rarely a day went by that he didn’t experience some reminder of that dreadful ordeal. His living nightmare. So now, for the present, he’d prefer to know more about her—background and past—before he disclosed his personal tribulations.
Sitting across from her now at dinner, watching candlelight shine off her hair to create a sheen on her clear, smooth skin, it occurred to him that although he’d known of the Widow Rael-Lamont for several years, he knew absolutely nothing about her personally. It was also quite possible that the information she offered socially to friends and acquaintances was totally fabricated, which, he had to admit, he hadn’t considered before now. Of course by looking at her, daintily sipping her soup as she supped with him at his enormous dining room table that he almost never used, she bore herself so properly he had trouble envisioning her as a mere proprietor of a common flower business. No, Vivian Rael-Lamont was all sparkle and vibrant energy, a complex blend of intelligence, beauty, and secrets. An elegant lady on the outside, but with a flair that only hinted at a passionate woman within.
Will tried to concentrate on his food. He’d ordered Wilson to make sure the cook provided the best dinner served in his home in years, and the fare thus far had been outstanding. Tonight they dined on shrimp bisque, which would be followed by roasted fillet of veal in butter cream sauce, broccoli with almonds, ice pudding, orange slices, and brandied custard for dessert. A most delectable meal followed by what he hoped would be even more delectable kissing in the garden by moonlight.
They sat together quietly during the first course, making general conversation as footmen served each entree then stood in waiting by the sideboard. Will sensed that she had difficulty ignoring the servants and so he granted her silent request to keep personal topics at bay. At least until they were essentially alone. And as he watched her smile and move her hands in dramatic fashion while she spoke of something inconsequential that he only pretended to find of interest, he couldn’t help but remember that brief brush of his lips to hers, his heated response to such a simple touch, and the gentle flush that had crept into her cheeks when he’d backed away. That had been days ago, and waiting this long to touch her again had been pure torture.
Now she sat directly across from him at the center of the long oak table, yet so close he could occasionally scent her perfume, watch the rise and fall of her breasts with each breath, catch the candlelight flickering in her eyes when she looked at him. She wore a simple yet elegant gown of burgundy silk, tightly corseted, with puffed, short sleeves and a surprisingly low, square neckline. She’d up-twisted her hair in some loose fashion, weaving in a strand or two of white, shiny pearls. Two simple pearls hung from her earlobes as well, but what kept capturing his attention was the one lone pearl that dangled from a gold chain to nestle itself right in the center of her smooth cleavage. Mesmerizing—
“Your grace?”
He blinked, realizing that he was staring again, and wondering, in some strange erotic manner, if she found it stimulating to know how much he admired her bosom.
“I’m sorry,” he replied, sitting straighter in his chair and raising his fork to cut a bite of veal. “You were saying?”
She smirked and reached for her wineglass. “I asked you if you were aware of the new taxes levied this year on boats entering the harbor from abroad. They seem overrestrictive to me,” she added, taking a sip.
Taxes on goods. He could think of nothing but bedding her naked body, combing his fingers through her loose, long hair, watching her eyelids close in abandoned desire as she welcomed him with arms opened…And she spoke of taxes. Unbelievable.
“In fact,” she continued after swallowing, delicately slicing into a bud of her broccoli, “it’s made it more difficult for me to get good bulbs at a decent price.”
“Would you like me to attempt a change by introducing an act of Parliament for you?” he drawled, lips twisted in smile. “I wouldn’t want to see your business suffer.”
She jerked back a little, her eyes opening wide. “That had not occurred to me, your grace,” she said at once, surprised and flustered and not at all aware that he teased her. “I mean—it was never my intention to take advantage of your station.”
Will sat back in his chair, eyeing her frankly as he twisted the stem of his wineglass with his fingers. “Advantage of my station?” he returned quietly. “That certainly sounds intriguing.”
Color rose in her cheeks; that damn pearl glistened between her breasts as she squirmed slightly in her chair. To conceal her apparent discomfiture, she took a long swallow of her wine. He waited, gauging her reaction, scratching his jaw very slowly as he leaned on the armrest, enjoying himself thoroughly.
After patting her lips with her napkin and smiling politely to the footman who took her plate and offered more wine, she carried on as if he’d not spoken at all.
“I only became aware of how much this tax has risen from Vicar James, as he mentioned the difficulties imposed on all the working class during his sermon Sunday. I just wasn’t certain if you’d heard—”
“I don’t go to church,” he said abruptly, his tone dropping a shade.
Her brow creased in thought as she tipped her head a fraction. “Whyever not?” she asked in perfect honesty.
She obviously hadn’t considered it, and it made him all the more uncomfortable. He sat forward and folded his hands on the edge of the table. “Because I have sinned beyond reproach, remember? Why go to church when I am damned?”
She almost gasped. He could see the shock in her eyes as the dark pools reflected the flickering candles surrounding them. Silence reigned for seconds until one of his servants cleared his throat behind him, reminding them—or at least her—of the fact that they were not alone.
But to his utter disbelief, instead of cowering or begging his leave as any other lady would do, she suddenly sat up straighter and lifted her wineglass again.
“Nonsense,” she retorted, looking him straight in the eye. “I don’t for a minute believe that. I think perhaps you would do well not to listen to gossip, your grace. You of all people should set an example of your innocence, not hide from society as if you are guilty. Forgive me, sir, but you were not convicted of a crime. Staying away from church only makes you look fearful. Attending would, to all who noticed, make you look as if your innocence is beyond question. Whether you did the deed or not is irrelevant. That is between you and our Maker.” With that, she took a final sip of her wine, smoothed her skirts, then muttered with a smile, “I believe I’m ready for dessert.”
He hadn’t been scolded like that in a long time, and in fact found it a bit staggering that she would speak so boldly to a member of his class. But more importantly, Will had a very difficult time digesting such a pronouncement, on many levels, causing him to abandon his teasing approach, his goading of her, while he considered the meaning of her words.
He had never thought of his acquittal that way, not in all the years since his trial. But she was right, he supposed. Hiding from society only perpetuated the rumors of his guilt. And yet by nature he remained a very private individual. He still could not imagine socializing with the elite, regardless of whether they thought him guilty and condemned of the crime of murder.
What stirred him internally, however, was Vivian, the woman sitting so close to him—the way she looked, smelled, acted. She was like a beautiful, haughty, elegant goddess with a sharp tongue that didn’t irritate, but instead oddly aroused him. He no longer wanted dessert.
After a long, deep inhale, Will pushed his chair back and stood beside it, wondering if she would notice the fact that he was hard for her and that his pants could barely conceal it.
“I would like you to walk with me, Vivian,” he said with soft insistence.
She glanced up to his face, confusion lighting her features. “Now?”
Unfortunately, she didn’t appear to notice. No matter. She would know soon enough how badly he wanted her.
“Now,” he repeated.
A footman was there at once to help her rise, which she did without further comment. Will walked to the end of the table where he waited for her, his arm raised, while she adjusted her skirts and then moved with shoulders erect to his side. Placing her warm palm on his forearm, he stared at her for a moment before proceeding, catching the light on her lovely face, her eyes so bright with uncertainty. Even with the ominous cloud of blackmail and mystery over their heads, it calmed him to have her there, a feeling he’d never experienced before in the presence of a woman.
Quietly, he led her from the dining room, through the music room and out the French doors to the garden where he’d kissed her so briefly only a few days ago.
“Do you know what I find strange, madam?” he asked as they walked side by side on the brick path, away from the main house.
“I’m sure I couldn’t begin to guess,” she replied softly, lifting her face and closing her eyes to the cool nighttime breeze.
He paused in thought for a moment, then murmured, “I find it strange that you never remarried.”
He felt the slightest hesitation in her stride, but otherwise she didn’t offer an explanation. And he wanted an explanation.
“I find it difficult to believe you had no suitors,” he rephrased for her benefit, pushing for answers.
She sighed, stopping at last to gaze out over the expansive ocean she couldn’t see at all through the darkness of night.
“I haven’t wanted any suitors,” she admitted at last.
He turned to face her, her expression hidden in shadow as the light of the house was behind her. “That’s rather vague.”
She dropped his arm and reached up absentmindedly to twist the pearl at her cleavage with her thumb and forefinger. “I suppose it is.”
Will quashed his annoyance, placing his hands on his hips beneath the edges of his frock coat. “You haven’t…longed for the particular companionship that comes from a marital union? How is that possible?”
That delicate topic made her uncomfortable, though he could only really just sense it.
“I’ve been busy,” she said with a mild shrug.
He didn’t like that answer at all. It was far too evasive and she knew it as well. “Too busy to enjoy the pleasures only a man can give you?” he asked more directly.
She took a step back, crossing her arms in front of her. “Your grace, I don’t think—”
“Why do you refuse to call me Will?”
He couldn’t hide the irritation in his tone, and at this point he didn’t want to.
She touched one palm to her forehead briefly, with the other she continued to play with the pearl lying between her uplifted breasts. She couldn’t possibly know how that mindless action threatened to undo him. It took every ounce of strength within him not to grab her and pull her into his arms.
“I don’t think it’s proper for me to do so,” she admitted quietly after a moment.
Such a ridiculous answer made him shake his head. “You don’t think it’s proper when I have asked you and we are alone like this?”
She turned her attention to him, though he still couldn’t read her features with the light from the house silhouetting her.
“You are a duke,” she said, as if he’d forgotten that simple fact.
Roughly, he raked his fingers through his hair. “I’m also a man, Vivian.”
She exhaled loudly before she replied, “I’m fully aware of that.”
“Are you?”
She stilled, watching him.
Will chose that moment to make contact. Gingerly, he raised his hand and placed it over hers, covering the pearl, laying warm skin on warm skin, relishing the jolt that sliced through him when he felt the quickening of her heartbeat beneath the rise and fall of her breasts.
“You know I’m going to make love to you,” he said, his voice husky and low.
She sucked in a shaky breath but didn’t back down, which he found infinitely gratifying.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He drew his thumb across her hot skin, softly pushing it under the edge of her gown as he pressed close to her nipple, his eyes never leaving the shadows of her face.
“But how awkward and sad it would be,” he continued, his own breathing becoming unstable, “if when I take you in passion, you do not cry out my name, but my title instead.”
She trembled now; he could feel a shudder course through her body. Enough of the foreplay. He’d well made his point.
Still clasping her hand with his against her breasts, Will leaned over and took her mouth with his, more forcefully than he had the first time they’d so touched. She made a soft mewing sound in her throat at first contact, but she didn’t pull away.
Such shyness without reluctance, such tenderness underlying what had to be trepidation on her part, made him come alive inside. It had been so hard to hold back, so hard not to feel, and for now, Will allowed himself to wallow in the pleasure of being with a woman who so obviously desired him in spite of his past.
Alone in the garden, encircled by a soft sea breeze and the sweet scent of flowers, he pressed for more, wanting her to open for him and accept the beginning of the ecstasy to come. He reached behind her back, splaying his large hand across her spine, and pulled her toward him.
His mouth teased without force and she followed his lead, gradually opening for him as he gently pried. He moaned as she flicked his upper lip with the tip of her tongue, holding back the urge to lift her, hoops and all, and carry her to his bed chamber or down the path toward the sandy beach below.
Suddenly he felt her arm wrap around his neck as she gave more of herself to the moment. His tongue sought hers, grasping it faintly and sucking the edge as she whimpered and pushed herself closer into his palm at her breast.
She needed him now, wanted him fully, and as he was vaguely aware that she ran her fingers through his hair, he lowered his hand over her gown to cover her, squeezing minutely, teasing the nipple he couldn’t feel but managed to imagine stood erect and sensitive in all its beauty.
Her breathing had grown as shallow as his; her urging at his mouth made him increasingly hard as he longed to push himself inside her sweet softness. He pressed her against him as tightly as possible, cursing the layers of clothes that kept the heat of her skin from scorching his own. She continued to allow him his delicate pursuit, her luscious lips assaulting his now in delicious form, in a fever of yearning she could no longer control.
He ran the edge of his thumb back and forth over the tip of her covered breast, causing her to gasp softly against his mouth as she shuddered in his arms, pulling herself against him now in growing hunger. But as she began to trace his upper lip with her tongue, he knew he could take no more from her without completion. It had been too long.
Groaning as much with frustration as passion, Will lifted his lips from hers, only a little at first to allow her to understand that he was ending the kiss, the embrace, in an attempt to tame the fire within before it consumed him and ignited what remained of his control.
She didn’t want to let him go, and for several seconds after he pulled back she continued to press little kisses against his lips and chin, the side of his face.
“Vivian…” he whispered, grasping her shoulders, thoroughly warmed from the openness she conveyed in her sweet caress.
For a moment or two she didn’t seem to hear him. And then suddenly she lowered her head and took a wavering step back, raising her hand to cover her mouth.
They stood apart for minutes as their breathing calmed, their rationality returned, listening to the cool night air rustle the leaves around them. He didn’t know what to say exactly, but he refused to let her go without comment.
“When?” she finally murmured, her fingers still covering her lips.
He understood what she asked even as it surprised him that she’d spoken first. But if it had never mattered before, with this woman timing was everything.
He bit down hard to subdue what was left of his desire. “When I’m ready.”
Her head jerked up as she gazed to what she could see of his face.
“When—when you are ready?” she repeated, confusion threading her tone.
He inhaled a surprisingly steady breath, then said with conviction, “When I agreed to trade the manuscript for companionship, Vivian, I meant it all. I have missed having a woman in my life for years.” He reached out and touched his fingertips to her cheek, immensely pleased that she didn’t jerk away from him. “I hope you didn’t think I pursued you for a romp. You are more to me than the temporary enjoyment of one short bedding.”
He heard her gasp faintly from the sincerity of his words, felt her shake her head minutely as if trying to comprehend the depth of his implication. And then finally she closed her arms over her stomach and took a step away from him.
He dropped his hands to his sides, a sinking feeling weighing in his gut as he waited for her to deny him.
At last she turned her head and gazed out toward the ocean. “When would you like me to return?”
The relief he experienced at that moment was utterly palpable. Trying not to grin, he replied, “I’ll send word.”
Seconds later, she nodded, then shook herself and lowered her arms to stand elegantly erect once more. “It’s getting late, sir.”
“Indeed,” he returned without inflection. “I’ll have my driver see you home.”
He expected her to turn and walk away from him then, but she didn’t. Instead, she took a step or two in his direction, pausing in front of him before she placed her palm on his shirtfront, over his heart.
Gazing up into his eyes, she whispered, “Will…”
And then she lifted her skirts and left him standing in amazement, alone in his huge, darkened garden.