Just wicked enough, p.23
Just Wicked Enough, page 23
“A gift from the first marquess.”
“Oh, Michael, it’s too valuable, I can’t.”
“You’re now the Marchioness of Falconridge. It belongs about your throat. Please honor my family by wearing it.”
Hardly knowing what to say, she did little more than nod and remove her own string of pearls. He came behind her and draped the necklace around her. The top of it was like a collar that circled her throat as he secured it at the back. The front flowed down toward her bosom.
She thought of his ring that Jenny had secured from the jeweler. It was nestled safely in Kate’s jewelry box. She wondered if this was the moment to return it to him, if their relationship was strong enough to sustain his learning that she knew of his sacrifice. Or was it still too delicate? In the end, she decided not to risk anything ruining the magic of this moment of his giving such a precious gift to her.
Turning, she lifted on her toes and kissed him, welcoming the feel of his arm snaking around her as he drew her closer. It was as though asking for his kiss last night had unleashed much of what he’d been holding back. As though, at long last, they were both embracing the promise of something special building between them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, feeling the press of his hips against her. “But it must wait.”
He laughed, a low sound that vibrated between them and filled her with excitement and anticipation over what would be waiting for her—for them—when they returned.
He began nuzzling her neck, just above the top of the necklace. “This is all I want you to wear to bed tonight,” he rasped. “This necklace.”
Her knees weakened with the onslaught of images bombarding her after lying upon the bed. Somehow the thought of wearing a single piece of jewelry seemed more sensuous than being completely nude. And judging by the reaction and tightening of his body, he was feeling the same. She stepped beyond his reach. “We really must go.”
Michael studied the blush that traveled from his wife’s cheeks, disappeared beneath the necklace, and reappeared across the exposed swells of her breasts. He could hardly wait to uncover the rest of her, to watch the blushes slip into hiding. Who would have thought that her wearing anything at all to bed would fill him with such anticipation?
“Very well,” he murmured, removing his white gloves from his pocket and tugging them on as he followed his wife out of the bedchamber. “Promise me if the opera is boring, we’ll leave before it ends.”
“I’ll promise no such thing,” she said tartly. “I’ve already deduced that no matter how enjoyable the performance, you’ll be bored.”
He couldn’t help himself. He laughed, the sound traveling in his wife’s wake as they reached the foyer. Suddenly she spun around. He thought she was going to comment on his laughter. Instead she said, “Oh, I forgot my wrap.”
“I’ll get it. Wait here.”
“It’s lying across the foot of my bed.”
He couldn’t stop himself from grinning as he bounded back up the stairs. They’d make use of the foot of the bed later. He could have sent up a servant, but his long legs made quick work of returning to her room. He was almost leery to put a name to what he was feeling. Intense satisfaction with his life, in spite of the hardships that might still await them. Something had shifted last night with that kiss…it was as though her request and the intensity of all that had followed had somehow managed to permanently knock down the last of the bricks that had encompassed the wall surrounding his heart. He felt a stirring, a hope for the future that he wasn’t certain he’d ever known. It was quite possible that together they could find unlimited happiness. It was a notion that he was having a difficult time wrapping his mind around, but he wanted to embrace it. He wanted to give to her everything within him that he was capable of giving.
He strode into her bedchamber, snatched the silken wrapper from the bed, and turned for the door. His gaze fell on a crumpled piece of paper beneath the vanity. He wasn’t certain what drew him to it. It was obviously of no importance and yet—
Bending down, he picked it up and straightened it out. An obviously unschooled attempt at poetry. Was it something old, something Kate was dismissing from her past? More likely, it was something recently received during an encounter in a night-shadowed garden. Or perhaps during a secretive rendezvous. He wondered what it was about Wiggins that appealed to Kate. Perhaps it was the man’s ability to put into words thoughts Michael held only in an abstract sort of way. They were too powerful, too overwhelming, too large to attempt to narrow down into a few mere words.
He dropped it on the vanity, so it would be there for them to discuss later, but truly what was the point? He’d given her permission to love the bastard, to fantasize about him. Why should he find fault with her reading his poetry?
Because while her heart might never be his, her person belonged to Michael. He’d deal with it later. The money was in his hands now. He was the one who needed to be pleased. Taking a deep breath to regain control of his temper, he made his way down the stairs. Kate was standing by the door, talking with the butler.
“Bexhall,” Michael said, summoning his butler over. There must have been something in his voice that indicated to Kate that he wished to speak privately with his servant.
“Yes, my lord?” Bexhall said once he was near enough to speak with the proper decorum.
“Did the marchioness have a visitor today?”
“Yes, my lord. The Duchess of Hawkhurst came to call.”
“Anyone else?”
Bexhall swallowed.
“Anyone else?” Michael repeated through clenched teeth.
“Not today.”
“Yesterday?”
Bexhall nodded. “A Mr. Wiggins.”
“Was she home for him?”
“They took a stroll in the garden.”
Michael nodded, reverting to his former skill of not revealing his emotions. He strolled over to Kate and draped the wrap around her shoulders.
“Is everything all right?” she asked.
“Everything is fine. I simply noticed an area upstairs in need of dusting. Bexhall will see that it’s taken care of.”
“It seemed like a rather serious conversation for a bit of dust.”
“Now that I have the means, I’m very particular about the management of my homes. Shall we be off?”
She smiled brightly. “I’m looking forward to the evening.”
Unfortunately, he no longer was.
Chapter 22
Kate was well aware that at the theater performances were not limited to those on the stage. Theatrics were at play as soon as one alighted from one’s coach. Everyone pretended gaiety, everyone put on a show.
Still she wasn’t quite prepared for the performance required of her when she and Michael crossed paths with Wesley and Melanie in the lobby of the theater.
“I love the opera. Don’t you just love the opera? I love the opera,” Melanie said, her horse-size teeth displayed in a macabre kind of smile that seemed terribly forced.
“I’m fond of the opera,” Kate said, because responding to her seemed the kind thing to do.
“Wesley doesn’t. Do you, Lord Falconridge? Do you like the opera?”
“Not particularly. I’m here because it pleases my wife that I be.”
Taken aback by his words, Kate turned her head to look at him. He’d been unusually quiet in the coach, which she’d attributed to the busy day he’d had hiring the builder and seeing to things that needed to be taken care of before they returned to the country. Still it had been some time since he’d given the impression that he was doing something simply because it pleased her.
“How fortunate for her. And for me. I mean, Wesley’s here because I want him to be. Isn’t it wonderful to have such attentive husbands, Lady Falconridge? Although I’ll confess to finding it strange addressing you so formally, but Wesley assures me I must. He’s more familiar with what is proper than I. I don’t like living here. Do you?”
Kate laughed lightly. “Well, except for all the rain. I thought I felt a few drops when we were walking inside. Oh, look, there’s the Duke and Duchess of Hawkhurst. We’re sharing their box tonight. We should probably catch up to them.”
Wesley rubbed his right ear. It was a signal he’d perfected when he was secretly courting her. It meant he’d be waiting for her in the lobby after the performance began. She wondered how he intended to escape his wife, how he expected her to escape her husband.
“It was good to see you both. Come along, my darling, we should find our own seats,” he said.
As he and Melanie strolled away, Kate couldn’t help but think that even he had been performing.
“Did you know he’d be here?” Michael asked quietly.
“Of course not.” She put her hand on Michael’s arm. “You’re very fortunate her father isn’t as wealthy as mine. She’s actually the least talkative of her sisters.”
She’d expected him to laugh, at least to smile. Before she could question him about his somberness, Hawkhurst and Louisa had joined them and were escorting them to the box. The ladies sat in the front chairs, the gentlemen behind them.
“I’m so glad you could join us this evening,” Louisa said, patting Kate’s hand.
“It was kind of you to ask.”
“Is everything all right?”
Kate nodded, not at all comfortable telling her that something was bothering Michael. Although she couldn’t imagine what it might be. He’d been attentive before they’d left the house. Perhaps it was simply traveling in the confines of the coach. Maybe he needed time to shake off the effects of confinement. Or perhaps the crowds here made him feel as though everything were closing in on him. Or perhaps, as she feared, it was Wesley’s presence.
She was beginning to wish they’d simply stayed home. Together. Reading in the library. Lying in bed. Kissing. Touching. Talking. They had so much to learn about each other.
The lights dimmed, the curtains parted. Fifteen minutes from now, Wesley would expect her to slip out and meet him outside the theater. He’d rubbed his right ear three times, one time for each five minute increment. It had seemed so adventuresome when she was sixteen attempting to escape from beneath her mother’s watchful gaze. It had been fun, thrilling.
But to seek to escape her husband? To escape Michael? It seemed the worst sort of betrayal. It was the worst sort of betrayal.
Immediately she felt guilty. She’d not been firm enough the day before in explaining to Wesley that they couldn’t engage in any sort of tryst. She knew the power of his allure, how difficult she found it to resist him.
No one in her family knew that she’d gifted him with her virginity three weeks before she’d married him. His taking of her gift had been quick, painful, and unsatisfying to say the least. She didn’t regret it. How could she? She’d loved him.
But he’d been as a child tearing into a gift on Christmas morning.
A woman’s initiation into lovemaking should be handled with patience, the sort Michael had shown her, even though he’d known she was experienced. He’d seemed to savor the discovery of what lay beneath her gown. But then he always seemed to savor it, as though each time would be the last. And now that she at long last knew the flavor of his kiss…
Honestly, how could Michael not comprehend the power he had over her? To think that she could concentrate on imagining another man in her bed. He vastly underestimated his prowess.
She realized quite suddenly that she was sitting in the darkened theater, smiling so broadly that her jaw was beginning to ache. The opera had begun with her barely noticing.
Honestly, what was she going to do about Wesley? If she met him, she would only encourage him to pursue this path. If she didn’t meet him, she had no way of knowing if he would realize that she was rebuffing him.
They couldn’t have a relationship. She wouldn’t be unfaithful to Michael. And even as she thought that, she couldn’t help but wonder if a woman could be unfaithful with her heart and not her body. Michael thought she dreamed of being in another’s arms. If that belief caused him any sort of pain, he certainly didn’t show it. He never showed anything about what he felt. Even when his mother had attacked him, he’d been stoic.
Only later had the anguish become too much to bear. Did she cause him anguish as well?
In the past few days something significant had changed between them. He had the money now. He had no reason to be kind to her other than because he wanted to be. He no longer had to earn her favor. She touched the priceless necklace he’d given her. But it seemed he wanted to earn her favor.
Was trying to earn what he’d already gained.
She’d come into this marriage as damaged as he, knowing how love could hurt. Not realizing how it could also heal. When they left the theater tonight, she wanted nothing else to be between them. Which meant saying a final good-bye to Wesley.
She leaned over toward Louisa. “I’m going to the ladies’ refreshing room.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“No,” she whispered. “Enjoy the opera. I won’t be long.”
Rising, she turned to find herself facing her husband, who’d come to his feet. She touched his arm and repeated the lie she’d told Louisa.
“I’ll escort you.”
“No need.”
He studied her, then nodded. She could feel his gaze on her as she exited through the curtains.
With doubts flickering through his mind, Michael watched his wife leave.
“Is everything all right?” Hawkhurst asked. He’d come to his feet along with Michael.
“I’m sure it is. I’ll return in a moment.”
He slipped through the curtains and walked to the balcony that looked down on the majestic stairs and the grand foyer. His hands gripped the railing as he watched his wife hurry across the plush carpeted flooring, without once looking back, before leaving through the door that the footman opened for her. He knew beyond a doubt who she was going to meet. He had the money now. He had no need of her.
Let her go. Let her find her happiness in the arms of another man.
Turning back toward the box, he nearly doubled over with the pain brought on by the thought. He needed an heir. By God, she would remain faithful until he had his heir. Then she could take any lover she wanted.
He was halfway down the stairs before he realized where he was headed. The easy thing would be to let her go.
Damned shame for her that she’d taught him he gained more by not following the easy path.
Kate quietly slipped between the two buildings, the streetlamps casting very little light back here, just enough that she could see the gladness in Wesley’s face as he stepped from the shadows.
“I was afraid you weren’t going to come.”
“Wesley—”
“Kate, there must be some way we can be together. Each time I see you, I realize what a mistake I made in marrying Melanie.”
“Wesley—”
He pulled her farther into the shadows. “I love you, Kate. I always have. I always will. I know your father paid Falconridge five million dollars. If you could just find a way to get your hands on a portion of it, we could run off to America—”
“We’re married.”
“No one in America would know that. Melanie and Falconridge would be granted divorces on the grounds of abandonment. They would be free to marry others.” He squeezed her hands. “But what matters most is that we’d be together.”
Working her hands free of his, she reached up and touched his once beloved face. He’d always given so little thought to planning…to responsibility. He was a man who lived only in the present, who looked no farther than the distance cast by his own shadow, who put his needs and wants above all others. “Wesley, what I feel for you—”
“It’s time to return to the theater, Kate.”
Kate spun around at the familiar voice, and while there was a good deal of gloom in the alleyway, she didn’t need a good deal of light to know that Michael was furious. The seething anger shimmied off him, in undulating waves, like lightning striking across the sky.
“Michael—”
“You’re not leaving with him.” He crossed over and took her arm. “You’re coming back with me.”
“I just have to explain—”
“The explainin’ can wait ’til later, m’lady,” a large man said, stepping out of the shadows, brandishing…
Good Lord. He was holding a gun and so was the fellow with him. Scruffy hats shadowed their faces, coats disguised their shapes.
Michael moved Kate back slightly, placing his body between hers and the unsavory men. His eyes wide, Wesley stood to Michael’s side, but back a bit as though hoping he were lost in the shadows. Not that she blamed him.
“We mean you no ’arm,” the first man said, obviously the leader. “We only want yur valuables. ’And ’em over, gents, lady.”
Too stunned to believe this was happening, Kate watched as Michael removed his watch and chain from his vest as well as his money clip and dropped them into the outstretched hand of the second man.
The leader waved his gun. “The lady’s necklace.”
Kate’s hand flew to her throat. “No, it’s priceless—”
“Ev’rything’s got a price, m’lady. Give it up now. Don’t want no ’arm comin’ to yur man, ’ere, whichever one it be.”
How long had they been there, how long had they been listening? How long had Michael?
“No,” she said.
“Kate,” Michael said with a low rumble that would brook no arguments, turning slightly, holding out his gloved hand, but still managing to block most of her view of the men. “Give it to me.”
Taking the glove off her right hand so her fingers would have more dexterity, she reached back and unclasped the necklace. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, setting it in Michael’s hand.
“It’s not important. They’ll want the tiara as well.”
It hadn’t been in her family for four generations. It she gave up easily.
Michael turned back to the men and handed the things over.
