He paused, not wanting to ruin the sanctity of their intimacy by broaching the unfortunate subject of the person or people responsible for wanting to bring about his demise.Bloody hell, he’d had no business marrying her at all with this sordid nonsense underway. What had he been thinking, giving in to temptation and ruining her?
He’d been thinking, quite plainly, that he wanted her. That he had to have her in his life always. At his side. In his bed. That he had to make her his duchess and keep her forever.
“What was your dream about?” she asked, still gently stroking his back with a tenderness he hadn’t known he craved until that moment. “The man who tried to kill you?”
“Yes.” He waited for the accompanying pang of shame at the admission, the weakness. He’d faced down more villains than he could recall in his days with the Guild, and he’d never been haunted by it. But then, none of them had been trying to kill him. None of them had slipped into his chamber whilst he slept.
And yet somehow, miraculously, there was no shame he felt now. Not in the softness of the shadows, Virtue’s soothing hand on his skin. He felt, instead, reassured. Comforted.
“Have you learned anything else?” she asked quietly, worry in her tone.
“Very little.” He raked a hand through his hair. “Sutton and Tierney are investigating, as are the Bow Street Runners. Thus far, there is an indication the man may have been an actor who has gone missing.”
Her hand hesitated in its ministrations, pausing between his shoulder blades. “An actor?”
He heard the true underlying question. Knew what she was likely suspecting. The carelessness of his past had never troubled him before, but it did now, rising like a hideous specter between them.
“I don’t know the fellow, if that is what you are wondering,” he said. “I haven’t dallied with any actresses since long before you came to Hunt House.”
He hadn’t dallied with anyone at all since Virtue had come to stay with him in London. At first, he had imagined his disinterest in the opposite sex had been caused by the distraction of having a ward beneath his roof and all the associated responsibilities that came with it. Now, however, he could recognize the truth—he’d been drawn to Virtue from the first. And though she had been forbidden to him, his need for her had eclipsed all else. Even the need for having a warm, willing woman in his bed. Because the only one he’d wanted was her.
“You needn’t explain yourself to me,” Virtue said quietly, her hand resuming its course, traveling rhythmically up and down his spine. Soothing again. “I’m more than familiar with your reputation.”
He wished he hadn’t a reputation. Wished he’d taken greater care with the lovers he’d known in his past.
Trevor turned toward her, away from the shadows, longing to see her clearly. But they had been sleeping for only Christ knew how long. The day had been bleary, gray, and rainy, the sky leaden. He’d have to light a brace of candles, but doing so would mean moving away from her touch, her warmth, and he couldn’t bear to do so yet.
“I cannot alter the man I was, before you,” he told her. “I can only be the man I am now, your husband, your lover. And I can promise you this, I’ve never wanted a woman as I want you.”
It was the nearest he could allow himself to come to admitting his love. He wasn’t certain why. The feelings were too new, he supposed. Too frightening. And there also remained the fear she would not return his emotions. She hadn’t wanted to wed him, after all.
She kissed his shoulder again, a benediction he found himself reveling in. He wasn’t accustomed to such caring with his lovers. Past occasions had been transactions of the flesh only. Two lovers slaking mutual needs. But what he shared with Virtue was different, somehow. Was it because they were married? Because he loved her? Perhaps a curious combination of both reasons.
“I don’t want you to alter the man you were,” she said, her breath hot and humid on his bare flesh, chasing the last vestiges of the dream from his skull.
Desire returned, feverish and heavy. He had made her his, and the glory of sinking deep inside her sweet cunny lingered in his veins, making him long to have her again, even as he reminded himself he must be gentle with her. She was inexperienced. He had tended to her in the aftermath of their lovemaking, but he knew she would likely be sore.
“You don’t?” he asked her now, that unfamiliar vulnerability lingering behind his solar plexus.
“Of course not.” Another kiss, and then her hand moved higher, caressing his nape. “I find myself rather fond of the man you have become. Why should I wish to change you?”
His stupid heart stuttered. He felt suddenly as if he were taller than the roof of Hunt House, presiding over Grosvenor Square like some manner of mythical god. How quickly and easily she could undo him, then build him back up again. He hadn’t been wrong that day when he’d told her how much power she had over him. Within her short, feminine form was the ability to crush him without even raising a hand.
His head dipped, and he found her lips through the darkness, soft and warm. “Thank you,” he murmured against her mouth. “I…this is new for me.”
Loving a woman, he’d meant, but again, the words were trapped inside him, and he was too fearful to let them free. He rested his forehead against hers instead, breathing in her soft exhalations, feeling as at one with her as he had when he had been inside her.
“This is new for me as well,” she said. “And it has its own merits, being married.”
Her voice was low now, almost shy.
He kissed her again, because he could, and then couldn’t resist stopping to prod her on. “Oh?”
He asked the question because he was greedy. He wanted to hear her tell him she’d been as moved by their lovemaking as he had been. He was no novice to bedding a woman, but what had happened between himself and Virtue had felt like a first experience, in its own way. He’d never made love to a woman helovedbefore Virtue, and that made all the difference. The connection was deeper, stronger. It went beyond mere pleasure.
“I do like being able to touch you whenever I wish,” she confided, threading her fingers through his hair. Her lips landed on his jaw next. “And kiss you.”
Ah, God. He reached for her, drawing her more firmly against him, until her breasts pressed into his chest, the hard points of her nipples prodding him with potent temptation. “I like it, too. No more haranguing from Pamela.”
