The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride Page 14

  Then she’d come to her senses. They were completely different people. They wanted different things. They saw the world in different ways. If she couldn’t find love with a perfect match, one so completely imperfect, so utterly wrong, would ultimately end in disaster. She’d vowed long ago, she would never allow her heart to be broken again.

  And he would break her heart. She’d known it from the start and knew it as surely as she knew the sun would rise in the east. Still, for a few days in New York, she hadn’t cared. It hadn’t mattered. But then she’d thought she would never see him again. Planned never to see him again. It was for the best. Why didn’t he see that?

  And now he was here. He’d never understand that her unpleasantness toward him had little to do with him and everything to do with her. She hadn’t really understood it herself until today. She’d only known she was angry and frustrated and, yes, scared.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was past two. There was nothing to be done about it. She had to talk to him. Apologize again, of course, attempt some sort of explanation and ask him, again, to leave. Surely after today he would see the wisdom of that.

  He had to leave before it was too late.

  It was probably foolish to go to him now. In the wee hours of the morning. Dressed in her nightclothes. But better now than during the day when everyone was about. Besides, she had summoned up at least a small measure of courage and she wasn’t going to be able to sleep until she spoke to him.

  She opened her door, glanced up and down the corridor, and started down the hall. A gas sconce burned low, filling the corridor with dim light and shadows. His rooms were at the far end of the hall, away from those occupied by the others. Her footfalls echoed quietly in the night. A light shone under his door. Good, he wasn’t yet asleep.

  She stood before his door and hesitated, trying to sort out in her head what she’d say, searching for the right words. She had no idea really what to say but she did know, the one thing she wouldn’t tell him, was the one thing she knew firsthand from bitter experience.

  Love did not conquer all.

  She drew a deep breath and knocked softly. Without warning, panic swelled within her. It was all she could do to keep from turning and fleeing back down the corridor. What was she doing? What was she thinking? Or was she thinking at all? This was not the least bit wise. Surely it could wait until—

  The door opened and he stared at her. “What do you want?”

  What did she want? “May I come in?”

  His hair was tousled and he wore dark striped pajamas under that blasted blue silk dressing gown. At once she remembered the feel of that silk against her skin and a shiver ran down her spine. She ignored it. That was not why she was here.

  His eyes narrowed. “Did you come to berate me again?”

  “No, I came to apologize.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, I did and I would prefer not to do so standing here in the hall.”

  He studied her closely then nodded. “Very well then.” He stood aside and she slipped into his room. “You seem to be making a habit of apologizing to me.”

  “When one is a lunatic.” She forced an offhand note to her voice. “One tends to say things one shouldn’t.”

  He closed the door behind her. “As one does when one is dealing with a lunatic. I have apologies of my own to make.”

  “Accepted.”

  He frowned. “I haven’t made them yet.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I have never in my life called a woman a—”

  “No need to say more,” she said quickly.

  “It was coarse and crude. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “You were provoked and I was . . .”

  “Rude?” he said with a hint of a smile.

  “No, Samuel.” She straightened her shoulders. “Rude is something of an understatement. I was beyond rude and for that I am truly sorry.”

  “You’re getting better at this, you know.”

  “At apologizing?”

  He nodded.

  “I am getting a great deal of practice.” She glanced around his room. The covers on his bed were disheveled and papers were scattered on the writing desk. “I see you couldn’t sleep either.”

  “Either?”

  He was obviously not going to make this easy for her. She sighed. “I’m afraid my ill manners have weighed on my mind.” She nodded at the desk. “Were you working?”

  “I was trying but I don’t seem to be accomplishing anything.” He moved to the desk and straightened the papers. “Gray and I had a long talk tonight about our plans for manufacturing the motorwagon. Unfortunately, his business contacts are primarily in America.”

  “I thought Winfield was involved in business. Can’t he help?”

  “Possibly.” He nodded. “But Gray says he’s fairly conservative and not as progressive as one would hope. Still, Lord and Lady Stillwell’s interest is a good beginning. Of course they haven’t seen it run yet.”

  “I’m sure that will only increase their enthusiasm.”

  “With luck.” He crossed his arms over his chest and rested his hip on the desk. “If that’s all, you should probably go.”

  She drew a deep breath. “I’m not quite finished.”

  “Go on then.”

  “Very well. It seems to me, along with my apologies I owe you some sort of explanation or perhaps it’s a confession, I’m not sure.” She wasn’t about to tell him she feared she had found her soul mate, if one believed in such things, and he was the wrong man. Nor had she said she’d be completely honest but part of the truth was surely better than no truth at all. She sighed. “For one thing, I am so very tired of being angry with you.”

  “Imagine it from my side,” he said wryly.

  “It’s not merely that you are here . . .”

  “No?”

  “Or that I was surprised, well, shocked really, to see you again.”

  “And?”

  “And I was, well, this doesn’t seem to have as much to do with you as it does with me.”

  “I never thought otherwise,” he said coolly.

  She drew her brows together. “This is not easy for me and you aren’t being very helpful.”

  “Oh, well, my apologies then.”

  She ignored the sarcastic note in his voice. “As I was saying, it really has as much to do with me as it does with you I think. More so probably. I mean you could be anyone.”

  “Anyone?” His brow rose. “That is flattering.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” She wrung her hands together. “This is so confusing and it’s not coming out at all as I intended it.”

  “Just tell me what you have to say.”

  “I am trying. I’m, well, every time I see you . . .” I’m terrified that you will break my heart. “I’m embarrassed.” Yes, that was good and not a complete lie either. “After all, you and I . . . Horribly, horribly embarrassed.”

  “Embarrassed?”

  “Well, yes. You . . .” She drew a deep breath. “You have seen me . . . naked.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  “Goodness, Samuel, I would think not, you’re a man. No doubt many women have seen you . . . naked.”

  “I wouldn’t say many but some.”

  “I’ve never been seen completely naked by anyone.” Indeed, it was decidedly awkward even to say the word aloud. “And therefore every time I look at you—”

  “Not even by your husband?” Surprise widened his eyes.

  “That’s really none of your concern.”

  “I believe you’ve made it my concern.”

  “Yes, I suppose I have.” She paused. “My husband was a very proper man.”

  “I see.” He studied her for a moment. “And something of a fool as well. A smart man would have your clothes off at every opportunity.”

  “Nonsense.” She tried to ignore the heat that washed up her face. “My husband was . . .” She struggled to find the right word. “Perfect.�
�� Yes, that was it. “He was perfect. Exactly the type of man I had always planned to marry.”

  “And I am not.”

  “No, you’re not.” She shook her head. “We don’t suit at all.”

  “Then it’s fortunate I have not asked you to marry me.”

  “I never should have raised the subject of marriage with you. I have no idea why I did, although I suppose marriage has been on my mind of late.”

  “Probably because you are determined to find another perfect husband.”

  “Yes, well that would explain it.”

  “Which has nothing to do with me.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” She shook her head. “It seems the one thing we do agree on is that we don’t agree on anything. It’s in our natures really. You’re American, so very American, and I’m British. You believe in progress and I am rooted in tradition. You are nouveau riche and I am—”

  “Penniless?”

  “Only at the moment,” she said sharply, then drew a calming breath. “When you look at it in a practical, rational way, we have nothing in common.”

  “I wouldn’t say nothing,” he said under his breath.

  She was not going to rise to that bait, not again. “And obviously, as whenever we’re together, I am not disciplined enough to pretend nothing has ever happened between us.”

  “Because I’ve seen you naked.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Or maybe it’s because you’ve seen me naked.”

  She stared. “Possibly.”

  He studied her closely. “Do you think every time I look at you I see you naked?”

  “No, of course not.” She drew her brows together.

  “Do you?”

  His gaze skimmed over her and he shrugged.

  She gasped. “Do you?”

  “More to the point, do you see me naked every time you look at me?”

  “I don’t think that’s the point at all and don’t be absurd.” She huffed. “Not every time.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

  A slight smile played on his lips. “Then I would say we have a problem.”

  “We wouldn’t if you would do the . . . the gentlemanly thing and leave.”

  “I have already said I have no intention of leaving before the wedding.”

  “But as an intelligent man surely you’re open to logic and reason.”

  “I do love having my own words thrown back at me.”

  “They were very good words,” she said quickly.

  “I will be at the wedding, however . . .” He thought for a moment. “Gray and I talked about spending some time taking the motorwagon around the country, visiting friends of his family’s, to gauge interest. If we decide to do so, we will be gone most days, probably until late in the evening. He says he’s really not needed here.”

  “Oh, he isn’t,” she said eagerly.

  “Which means there will be days when you and I don’t see each other at all.” He met her gaze directly. “Will that do?”

  “Yes.” She breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s something of a compromise and I’ve never been good at compromise—”

  He snorted.

  “But the fact that you are willing to make a concession in view of my feelings, it’s very gallant of you. That will do quite nicely, thank you.”

  “Then we are agreed.” He straightened. “I will determine a schedule with Gray in the morning.”

  “Excellent.” She thrust her hand out toward him. “Isn’t it customary to shake hands now?”

  “It is.” He stepped closer, took her hand, and gazed into her eyes. A shiver ran through her at his touch. “As this seems to be a night of confessions, might I make one of my own?”

  “Don’t you think there’s been enough confession for one night?”

  “Probably, but I may never get another opportunity.” He pulled her closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “I wasn’t entirely truthful with you earlier.”

  “Oh?” She swallowed hard. Why, the man practically radiated heat. Not that she had forgotten.

  “When I said I had been thinking about you a lot, that wasn’t quite true.”

  “No?”

  “A lot was not entirely accurate. I never forgot so much as a moment with you.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. “I thought about you nearly every day and dreamed of you almost every night.”

  “That does sound like a lot,” she said weakly.

  “It seemed pointless, though.” His lips moved to her wrist and her breath caught. “You said you never wanted to see me again.”

  “I said it would be . . . best.” She could barely choke out the words. What was he doing to her?

  “That’s right, it would be best, I remember.” His lips whispered across her wrist. His free arm encircled her waist. “And so I did nothing but dream.”

  “Did you?” She should push him away, right now, and end this. Only a fool would fail to see what was happening.

  “I did.” His gaze bored into hers. “Did you?”

  Or perhaps only a fool would push him away. “I might have. Possibly. Once. Or twice.” Or every night.

  “And in your dreams, were my lips on yours?” He leaned in and brushed his lips across hers and she wondered that she didn’t melt at his feet.

  “Perhaps,” she whispered.

  He dropped her hand and wrapped his other arm around her. “And were you in my arms?”

  “Possibly.” Her heart thudded hard in her chest.

  “Was your body pressed against mine?”

  “It might have been . . .” As if of their own accord, her arms slipped around his neck and she gazed up at him.

  “Could you feel my heart beating against yours?”

  “I thought it was my heart. Oh, God.” She gazed into his eyes. “You’re seducing me again, aren’t you?”

  “I thought we agreed that it was a mutual seduction.”

  “In New York but now . . .”

  “I was not the one who came to your room.”

  “I only came to talk.”

  “Did you?” His gaze locked with hers.

  “That was my plan.” She didn’t sound the least bit convincing even to her own ears. She wasn’t a fool. Somewhere in the back of her mind hadn’t she known how their talk would end? Hadn’t she wanted this to end in his bed?

  “And you are one for plans.”

  She nodded. “Excellent plans for the most part.”

  “But even the best plans don’t always work as expected.”

  “Apparently.”

  “Did you plan this?” He pressed his lips to hers, softly but insistently.

  “No,” her lips murmured against his. For a moment, a dozen reasons why this would be yet another mistake raced through her mind. She discarded them all. “Perhaps.”

  His kiss deepened, her mouth opened to his. He tasted as she remembered. Of heat and desire and wonder. Lord help her, she was indeed a fool. This was another mistake. Or maybe it was simply . . . right. Or fate. Or magic. She didn’t know. Didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered save the heat of him, the feel of him pressed against her, the passion in his kiss. The desire in her own.

  His arms tightened around her. Her breasts pressed against his chest. The beat of his heart echoed the beat of her own. Hunger surged within her. Desire. Need. Truth. And fear. She’d lost herself in him once before and she would again. Whether it was wrong or right or simply mad, she wanted him. And had from the moment she’d left him. She angled her head, reveling in the feel of his tongue dueling with hers. The heat of his body wrapped around her. How could something so obviously wrong be so very right?

  She pulled her lips from his and gazed into his eyes. “Not a plan but . . . dear Lord, Sam, yes.” She swallowed hard. “I haven’t forgotten anything.” Her lips again met his. “Not for a moment. . . .”

  His mouth crushed hers and every doubt, every fear vanished in the feel of his mouth pillaging hers. She responded
in kind, her kiss as hard, as hungry as his. Months of denying the magic between them vanished, swept aside by aching desire and frantic need. She tugged at the sash of his dressing grown and pushed the cool silk off his shoulders. Her mouth still clung to his, his hands roamed over her shoulders, her back, her derriere. Her wrapper slipped to the floor followed almost at once by her nightclothes. She hadn’t noticed his clothes were gone as well until she felt the hard, hot muscles of his chest against her breasts. And she shivered with the heat of his naked body pressed against hers. No, she hadn’t forgotten so much as a moment....

  The instant the hotel door closed behind them, a dam of restraint between them burst. Her lips crushed to his. His hands, her hands were everywhere at once. They undressed one another with an urgency born of desire and need. She scarcely noticed when the shepherdess costume crumpled at her feet or when his pirate attire joined her discarded clothes. All she knew was the heat of him pressed against her, escalating her desire, searing her soul....

  She wrenched her lips from his and ran kisses down the slope of his neck and lower. His head fell back and he moaned. She rained kisses on his chest, catching a hard nipple in her mouth to tease and toy. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands skimming over her heated flesh, over her back and lower to cup her buttocks and pull her tighter against him. She couldn’t touch him enough. Couldn’t get enough of the taste of him. . . .

  He tasted of heat and desire and man. She explored him with her tongue and her mouth and her hands, reveling in the hard, strong planes and valleys of his chest and his shoulders and his legs. Aching for more....

  Her body pressed against his and she wanted more. So much more. She raised her leg and hooked it around his, and the hard length of his arousal slipped between her legs. She felt the strength of him, demanding and insistent, and gloried in the feel of her own slick desire on him. . . .