A Kiss to Remember Page 21

  Within five minutes, Laura was so lost she didn't think she would ever find the duchess's suite again, much less the duke's. She had assumed that if she kept veering in the same direction, she would eventually reach the west wing. But the house was a labyrinth of endless corridors, each longer and more confusing than the last. Laura traveled for a very long time without encountering any sign of life at all. Even a mouse would have been a comfort.

  She hadn't bothered to ask which floor the duke's suite occupied, but she was hoping all the bedchambers would be on the same floor. That hope was quenched when the corridor she was traveling abruptly dead-ended in a flight of stairs.

  She tried to circle back the way she had come, but ended up on an unfamiliar balcony overlooking what appeared to be a shadowy ballroom large enough to encompass all of Arden Manor, even the gardens. She sighed, wondering what Lottie would do if she found herself in this predicament. Probably sit down in the middle of the floor and start wailing at the top of her lungs until someone came running. Laura was tempted to do just that, but she was afraid no one would hear her or care enough to come running.

  A Turkish rug the color of blood ran the length of the balcony, muffling her footsteps to a whisper. Shadows gathered in the corners of the towering ceilings, dwarfing the feeble flicker of her candle. As an impish draft toyed with its flame, Laura cupped a hand around it, her steps faltering.

  As she rounded the next corner, a portrait gallery unfurled before her in all of its grim glory. By day, the room was probably just spooky; by night, it was terrifying.

  "Don't be silly, Laura," she scolded herself through her chattering teeth. "There's no need to be afraid of a bunch of dead people."

  Already ruing her unfortunate choice of words, she forced herself to march forward. She studiously fixed her gaze on the ornately carved double doors at the far end of the gallery, but she could still feel the suspicious eyes of Sterling's ancestors following her every step.

  She was so relieved to finally reach the end of the gallery that she didn't see the life-sized portrait hanging over the door until she was almost upon it. As the candlelight danced upward, she recoiled with a startled gasp.

  A man was sneering down his long, pinched nose at her, his icy eyes glittering with contempt. As Laura read the brass plaque beneath the portrait, she realized she was gazing up into the sunken face of old Granville Harlow himself. Dressed all in black, he clutched a silver walking stick in one pale hand.

  It was difficult to believe such a man could have ever sired a little girl. Laura didn't know whom to pity more—Diana or her mother. Lady Eleanor had rarely spoken of the duke who had adopted her son. Now Laura understood why.

  For the first time, she wondered how Sterling must have felt his first night in this drafty mausoleum of a house. Betrayed by his father, torn away from the mother he loved, had he huddled beneath the blankets, shivering in some unfamiliar bed? Or had he wandered these very halls, lost and alone, knowing no one would hear him if he cried?

  A brindle mastiff who could very well have been the grandsire of Sterling's dogs sat beside the duke. If including the dog had been the artist's attempt to make his subject appear more approachable, he had failed miserably. The man's spidery fingers were curled around the beast's collar as if he couldn't wait to sic him on the next saucy young upstart who dared to defy him.

  A low-pitched growl came out of the darkness behind Laura, lifting every hair on her nape. She had forgotten all about Sterling's devil dogs until that moment. She should have known he would allow them to roam the house by night. How else were they to rip out the throat of any intruder? Or any hapless bride foolish enough to abandon the refuge of her bed?

  The growl came again, rumbling with menace. Laura yelped and dropped the candle, plunging the gallery into darkness. She slowly turned, flattening herself against the door. All she could see was the malevolent reddish glow of two pairs of eyes.

  "Nice doggies," she whispered, struggling to swallow past the lump of terror in her throat. "Good doggies. You're not hungry, are you? I certainly hope not because I haven't much meat on my bones. Cookie has been trying to fatten me up for years, but hasn't had much success."

  The dogs padded closer, so close she could feel their hot, musky breath. Whimpering, Laura turned her face to the side.

  She told herself later that she never would have screamed, that she would have surrendered herself to her fate with at least a modicum of dignity if one of the beasts hadn't chosen that moment to ram his big, wet nose soundly into her crotch.

  Laura let out an earsplitting shriek. The door behind her was suddenly swept open. She went tumbling into the room, her shriek dying on a startled note. She slowly opened her eyes to find her husband standing over her, arms akimbo.

  "My, my," he said, cocking one eyebrow. "Look what the dog dragged in."

  * * *

  Chapter 24

  « ^ »

  … a woman who will love you

  as much as I always have.

  Laura slowly lifted her head. The savage beasts who had been an inch away from ripping out her intestines were now sitting back on their haunches with their tongues lolling out, just two overgrown puppies with only one goal in life—pleasing their master. A master who was looking none too pleased at the moment.

  Sterling reluctantly offered her a hand. Laura took it, allowing him to haul her to her feet and pretending not to notice when he immediately withdrew it.

  She brushed an invisible speck of dust from the skirt of her wrapper, still nursing her bruised dignity. "You're lucky you didn't have to step over my eviscerated body on the way to breakfast in the morning. Of course, according to your friend the marquess, you wouldn't have any trouble finding another bride to replace me."

  "Ah, but where would I find one so infinitely intriguing?"

  Sterling seemed determined to keep a barrier between them, even if it was only the muscular arms folded over his shirtless chest. Remembering the salty-sweet taste of his skin beneath her tongue, Laura felt her mouth go dry. She lowered her eyes, then wished she hadn't. The top two buttons of his trousers were unfastened, revealing a triangle of skin a shade paler than his chest.

  Following the direction of her gaze, he abruptly turned away to retrieve two thick slices of pork from his own untouched supper tray. He gave one to each of the dogs, along with an affectionate scratch behind the ears. They went padding back into the gloom of the portrait gallery with their prizes, leaving Sterling to close the door behind them.

  "And what would you have given them had they brought you one of my ribs?" Laura asked. "A rack of lamb?"

  He leaned against the door. "Contrary to their appearance, they haven't a vicious bone in their bodies. They were much more likely to have licked you to death." Although his provocative words sent a shiver of awareness dancing through Laura's veins, his sulky expression never changed.

  To escape it, she turned and studied the chamber. The duke's suite was even more ostentatious than her own. The massive bed was a twin to hers, but draped with hangings of midnight blue velvet that had been gathered at each corner with gold cords. Although Sterling's hair was tousled and his lids heavy, the bedclothes were undisturbed.

  "So this is your suite," she murmured, taking in the fire crackling beneath a mantel of black marble, the domed skylight paneled in stained glass, the freestanding columns carved from jasper, the gilded cheval glass perched near the foot of the bed.

  "This is my uncle's suite," Sterling said flatly. At her surprised look, he added, "Diana has been the only occupant of Devonbrooke Hall since he died six years ago. I've been off with the army for over a decade. On those occasions when I did visit London, I preferred to stay at Thane's."

  She dared a sheepish smile. "I don't suppose you were with the infantry, were you?"

  "I was an officer," he informed her gently.

  Laura barely resisted the urge to spring to full attention and snap off a salute. "That must be why you're so accustomed
to having everyone scramble to obey your every order."

  "Everyone but you, of course." He strode to a table and poured a splash of something amber into a glass.

  She'd been wrong about the brandy. This appeared to be his first drink of the night. Perhaps he only required fortifying when she was directly in his line of sight.

  He swung one leg over a delicate Chippendale chair, straddling it backward, and waved the glass in her direction. "So would you care to explain what you were doing wandering about this musty old tomb in the dead of night?"

  Laura sank down on the chaise longue opposite him. The cushions of the single-ended couch were still warm, as if someone had been sleeping on them. "I was lost."

  "Then you have my sincere sympathy." He took a sip of the liquor. "I used to get lost in this house all the time as a child. I once ended up in the solarium in the middle of the night, battling an ivy vine to the death. Diana found me the next morning, curled up on the floor sound asleep with the vine still wrapped around my throat."

  Although his words didn't betray even a trace of self-pity, the image tugged at Laura's heart. "If your uncle was still alive, I never would have found the courage to leave my room." She shuddered. "The dogs weren't nearly as scary as his portrait."

  "It's actually quite a flattering likeness. I've always said he should have paid the artist extra for leaving off the horns and tail and painting him with a walking stick instead of his usual pitchfork."

  "I gather the two of you weren't close."

  "Oh, we were as close as two human beings locked in mortal combat can be."

  "But he's gone. And you're still here. That would make you the victor."

  Sterling swirled the brandy around the glass, his eyes distant. "Sometimes I'm not so sure about that." His gaze sharpened, focusing only on her. "You still haven't answered my question. How is it that your wanderings led you here? To my bedchamber."

  What was she to tell him? That she was homesick? Lonely? Furious at him for abandoning her on their wedding night?

  He cocked his head to the side. "Come now, dear. I can almost see that clever little brain of yours weaving some charming fiction. Why not take a stab at the truth? I'm sure it will become less painful with practice."

  She drew herself up, glaring at him. "Very well. I grew tired of waiting for you to come to my bed so I decided to seek out yours."

  Fortunately, Sterling had just taken a sip of the liquor so Laura had the satisfaction of watching him choke. He set the glass down on the carpet beside the chair, swiping at his watering eyes. "Do go on. I find your candor quite refreshing."

  "Well, it is traditional for the bridegroom to pay his bride a visit on their wedding night. Of course, I realize that I'm not being completely fair. Given the unconventional circumstances of our… um, courtship, I suppose I have no right to expect a conventional marriage."

  "Oh, I think you'll find it very conventional indeed. Especially when compared to those in the social circles in which we'll be traveling."

  She frowned at him. "How so?"

  He shrugged. "The very nature of marriage itself implies that it's most successful when based on need."

  Laura brightened. Now they were getting somewhere. She couldn't think of anything she needed more in that moment than his arms around her.

  He folded those arms over the back of the chair. "The titled gentleman whose wastrel father has squandered the family fortune weds a wealthy merchant's daughter to fatten his coffers. A young lady with a passion for cards seeks out a gentleman of means so she might continue to indulge her habits. A second or third son woos a young woman of gentle birth who just happens to come equipped with a generous dowry."

  Laura's smile faded. "But what about affection? Devotion? Desire?" She bit back the one word she was aching to say.

  Sterling shook his head, his expression gentle, almost pitying. "Most of the ladies and gentlemen of my acquaintance prefer to seek those pleasures outside the bounds of matrimony."

  Laura sat in silence for a moment before rising and moving to stand before the hearth. She gazed into the hypnotic flames, weighing her words with great care. "So you married me simply because you had need of an heir and I was in a position to provide one for you. And now that you've done your duty, it only remains to be seen if I've done mine."

  "I suppose that's a fair way of putting it."

  Even before she started to turn around, Laura was tugging at the sash of her wrapper. As she faced him, the garment slipped from her shoulders, drifting down to pool on the heated marble of the hearth.

  Sterling went rigid, the flames leaping in his eyes. Laura could almost see herself reflected there. Could almost see the firelight melting the silk of her nightdress into a shimmering veil that only served to accentuate her long, slender legs, the rosy pout of her nipples, the elusive shadow at the juncture of her thighs.

  She glided toward him. She'd had little experience at playing the temptress, but she wasn't playing now. She was dead serious. "Since you've yet to determine if your efforts have met with success, my lord, there are some, even in your own social circle, who might accuse you of being less than diligent."

  As she approached, Sterling came to his feet, his wariness the only barrier left between them. "What do you think you're doing, Laura?"

  "My duty," she whispered, twining one hand around his throat and coaxing his lips down to hers.

  Their breath mingled for a tantalizing heartbeat before Sterling let out a hoarse groan. Then there were no barriers between them at all. There was only his tongue plundering the sweetness of her mouth, his arms wrapped tightly around her, his body molding itself to her every curve and hollow as if he'd spent most of his lifetime memorizing them. As Laura felt him rubbing up against the softness of her belly, she knew why he'd taken such care to keep her at arm's length. Why he'd insisted she be put in a suite at the other end of the world. His heart might never forgive her for deceiving him, but his body was only too eager to offer her pardon.

  And anything else she was willing to accept.

  Although she was the one who should have been doing penance, it was Sterling who dropped to his knees at her feet. Laura's head fell back as the searing heat of his mouth molded the silk of the nightdress to her nipple. He licked at the sensitive bud, then blew gently against the clinging silk. As he shifted his exquisite attentions to her other breast, pleasure pulsed like liquid velvet along her nerve endings, making her knees go weak. But he was there to catch her. There to cup the softness of her rump in his strong hands. He lowered his mouth yet again, this time pressing it to the dusky triangle beneath the silk in a kiss that was both shocking and irresistible. His tongue tasted her through the damp fabric and she cried out his name in a voice she hardly recognized as her own.

  Laura clung to his shoulders as he lifted her and carried her over to the bed. She expected him to follow her down, but instead he reached beneath the nightdress and dragged her hips to the very edge of the bed. He slowly pushed up the silk, leaving her utterly exposed to him, utterly vulnerable. But instead of being embarrassed or frightened, Laura was exhilarated. He was her husband, and there was nothing forbidden or sinful about the things he wanted to do to her. Or the things she wanted him to do.

  He didn't look like a devil but a pagan god standing between her legs in the firelight, his glittering eyes heavy lidded with desire. She was only too willing to offer herself as a sacrifice on his altar of pleasure. But as he dropped back to his knees and pressed that beautiful mouth of his to the gossamer curls between her thighs, now unveiled, she realized with a shiver of raw delight that she was the altar and it was her pleasure he sought. And he knew just where to find it.

  Laura arched off the bed as scorching tongues of flame licked her higher and higher. He might be a devil, but his skillful mouth was giving her a taste of heaven itself. She writhed and whimpered and tugged at his hair until a particularly diabolical flick of his tongue sent her soaring into paradise. Instead of trying to muff
le her wail, he made it go on and on by thrusting two of his long, aristocratic fingers deep inside of her.

  As he rose to his feet, Laura could only gaze up at him in wonder, limp and sated, yet still panting with desire. She surprised them both by being the first to reach for the buttons that had yet to be undone on his trousers. His tensile weight sprang free from its honey gold nest of curls, astonishing her anew.

  "I know it was dark in my room last night, but you can't mean?…" She shook her head, blinking up at him in disbelief. "Surely I couldn't have… I didn't…"

  "You most certainly did. Quite ably, I might add." He sucked in a jerky breath through gritted teeth as her fingers danced along his length. "But if you don't believe me, I suppose there's only one way to prove it to you."

  Prove it he did, cupping her bottom in his hands and lifting her so that they could both watch every fulsome inch of him disappear inside of her. Laura gasped as he filled her to the brim, the lingering tenderness from last night making her exquisitely sensitive to his every motion. She could already feel her heart beginning to shudder in time with the primitive pulse that beat where their bodies were joined. Modesty demanded that she close her eyes, but she could not look away from his beautiful face, now taut with hunger and gilded by a sheen of sweat.

  His powerful body was trembling with need, yet he held it in check, gazing deep into her eyes. "Who am I?"

  "My husband," she whispered helplessly, reaching up to stroke his chest.

  He slid all the way out of her, then all the way back in, so deep she knew he would always be a part of her.

  "Who am I, Laura? Who are you giving yourself to? Who's taking you?" A fierce urgency was reflected in his face, as if everything he was and everything he would ever be hinged on her answer.

  "Sterling," she sobbed, calling him by his Christian name for the first time in their acquaintance. She turned her face to the side, tears spilling from her eyes. "Oh, Sterling…"