Chapter Seven
The carriage pulledup in Grosvenor Square.
Robert gazed down at the small head resting against his shoulder. Kate was sound asleep. The lamplight fell upon her creamy cheek. He stroked her delicate skin with a finger and spoke her name. She didn’t stir. She was worn out, and understandably so. He suffered a stab of guilt. She’d irritated him asking about Arabella. Perhaps because she’d been right. He and Arabella had enjoyed a brief affair a year ago. He was more than a little annoyed at Arabella. She hadn’t addressed Kate correctly and her snide remarks were mean. She should direct her anger toward him, he was after all the real cause of it.
He’d thrown Kate to the mercy of thetontonight. And he knew only too well how harsh they could be. She’d done remarkably well, her fresh face and openness a stark contrast to some over-painted and spoiled aristos who were there. Those his uncle had despised. She’d made him proud, he had to admit. Several of his friends sought him out during the evening to offer their approval, and more than one commented that he was a lucky man.
“I’ll carry Lady St. Malin, Soames,” he told the footman. Robert gathered her up. Her soft body encased in a corset, petticoats, and skirts nestled against his chest as he walked up the steps and into the house. How slight she was, how light in his arms. He tended to forget, she was such a forceful presence.
When he reached her chamber, he found Brigitte waiting, dozing in a chair by the fire. “You may go.”
He laid Kate on the bed. Her eyes opened briefly. “Oh, thank you Robert. Too kind.” He should have left her there with her maid, yet he found he didn’t wish to. He wanted to see more than the brief glimpse he’d had of this young woman who was now joined to him for life. She murmured as he turned her and unhooked her gown, stripping it and her petticoat off and throwing them over a chair.
He unlaced the strings of her pretty stays, then paused, suffering another twinge of guilt. It didn’t seem right to do this while she slept. But perhaps she knew and enjoyed his ministrations.
She murmured his name, and her delicious mouth widened in a smile. His mouth hovered above hers. Aroused, his blood quickened. It brought him up short, and he drew away. This was not what he’d intended. Anastasia awaited him in her apartments. Yet, he preferred to remain and make love to his wife. They must become lovers eventually, why not now? She had told him to wait, but a man couldn’t wait forever.
Would she agree?
Robert gently shook her shoulder. “Wake up, Kate.”
She half sat up and opened her eyes, gazing at him. “What?”
Her curls tumbled down in a glorious mass of sun-kissed locks.
“I am undressing you. Do you mind?”
“Are you putting me to bed, Robert? Sorry. So dreadfully weary.” She settled down in her shift and closed her eyes again.
She had been through so much in these past months, and was so trusting, lying there in his arms, almost naked. What he saw of her body was delightful, and the brief glimpse he’d had of creamy skin, honey curls, and rose-tipped nipples when she’d stepped from her bath lingered tantalizingly in his mind. Her shift covered most of her slim legs. His fingers itched to raise it so that he might more thoroughly discover what lay beneath.
He denied himself, resolutely removing her peach satin garters. Then he rolled down her stockings, enjoying the view of her shapely legs, her skin soft against his hands. The rose water she used drifted tantalizingly in the air. He wanted to bury his nose in her skin and inhale deeply. Her full breasts pressed against the fine lawn, and it was all he could do not to cup her breast and thumb the perky nipple. But he wanted her awake, and agreeable.
“Kate?”
She opened an eye. “I’m afraid I’m in my cups, Robert.”
“Are you, sweetheart?”
He wouldn’t stoop so low as to make love to a woman worse for drink. Not unless invited. He pulled back the bed covers and settled her in the bed. Her long hair spilled over the pillow, and for a moment, he stood there gazing down at her, before tucking a small foot into place.
She curled up and gave a murmur of pleasure.
With a stab of regret, he drew the covers over her. “Goodnight, Kate.”
He poked at the fire and went to blow out the candles.
“Why, what’s this?” He picked up a small wooden carving and marveled at how finely wrought it was. What expertise would be required to produce such a thing? She’d shown him this piece of wood in Cornwall, likening it to a horse jumping a log, and now it was a work of some skill. In fact, there were several, all of them beautifully wrought.
“You are an astonishing young woman,” he said quietly, casting her a respectful glance where she slept in the big bed.
More than enough room there for him, too, and he was tempted to climb in beside her. Perhaps just to sleep, and then later, what came naturally might occur. Half out of his coat, he hesitated. He shrugged his coat back on. They’d got off to a bad start. It would take more than this to set things to rights. No sense in risking an embarrassing rebuff.
He wasn’t sure what held him back. She was his wife after all, dammit! But he blew out the candles and left the room.
Descending the stairs, Robert pulled on his gloves and took his hat from a sleepy footman. Not wanting to have his own horses left standing, he’d given instructions earlier for a hackney and found it waiting. He would spend an hour with Anastasia who never retired until dawn, but the thought did not provide him with the usual enthusiasm.
*
