Trial by Desire (Carhart 2)

Her body tensed around his. She was his fully; he was inside her, taking every last stroke he’d denied himself.

When she came, he felt the heat of it like the opening of an oven. He pumped inside of her again, and again, and again, until he was shooting all of himself inside her. Until he was sated and weak and barely able to hold even her slight weight against the wall.

Breath returned first.

Then followed the scream of his muscles, aching after that physical exertion.

Sanity was longer in coming. She was looking up at him, smoothing away the sweat on his forehead, a faint smile playing across her lips. Her legs were wrapped around him; he was still embedded in her, his cock too sensitive, aware of the pulse deep in her body. Perhaps that beat was in him. He couldn’t tell any longer.

And they were in the thrice-be-damned hallway, for God’s sake, where anyone could see them. What the hell had he been thinking?

He hadn’t. He hadn’t even waited to take her to bed like a civilized man.

“Damn me.”

That shy smile spread across her face, lighting it up. “If I had known that it would be like this, I would have goaded Harcroft to manhandle me years ago.” God truly had damned Ned. He’d ignored everything—his concerns for her well-being, his control. Rage had transformed into desire. He’d not had one thought in his head but taking his pleasure of her.

Then again, she hadn’t seemed to mind. Quite the contrary. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. Slowly, he disengaged from her. He lowered her to the floor with all the gentleness that he could muster.

She did up his breeches, her hands steady. She bit her lip in concentration as she worked, and an unbidden flush of affection hit him. He’d always thought his wife a striking woman. How had he not noticed before now how adorable she was?

She looked up at him, smiling. “Well, Mr. Carhart. You’ve embarked on a love affair with your wife. Now what do you intend to do?”

Run away. His first thought, unworthy as all his baser impulses usually were.

No. Kate was right. There was no taking back what he’d done to her these past minutes. There was no withholding from her this dark, ravenous side of himself.

And there were many, many worse things than having a wife who enjoyed his body as much as he enjoyed hers.

So she’d breached all his defenses, all but the last one. She thought he was strong. She thought he was warm as summer, and didn’t understand that he’d merely reached apogee. He had the distinct sensation of hanging weightless in air.

It didn’t matter. He’d suffered winter before. He’d make his way through that as well when it came again. If she needed to believe him strong, he’d be strong for her, no matter what the seasons brought. She didn’t need to know what plagued him.

And so he mirrored the slow laziness of her smile. “Well, my lady. The first thing I suggest is that we call for a bath.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“A BATH?” KATE ECHOED incredulously. Her body still throbbed, satiated. And yet she hadn’t had enough.

“Trust me.” He smiled at her. “You want a bath.”

“Oh.” She suddenly realized how sweaty, how sticky she was. Not romantic in the least. Was he trying to say—

“Oh, don’t stiffen up.” He took her hand. “I want to give you a bath. Trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Kate hadn’t realized it was the truth until the words came out of her mouth. But she did—she could taste it in her mouth, a warm taste as volatile as brandy and twice as heady.

His eyes widened slightly. He lifted his hand to her cheek, oh so slowly. “Of course you do.” His voice sounded deeper than usual. It seemed to resonate through her bones. “I told you that you would.”

“You can make all the jokes you like, Ned, but I see through you.”

It was nothing—a trick of the light, perhaps, or a waft of the air. For a second, she thought the pupils of his eyes contracted to dark pinpoints, and all that heat turned to ice. The sensation passed so quickly, though, that she must have been mistaken.

“Of course.” His voice was a warm caress. “It’s all a part of my diabolical plan. I confess it now. Do you realize I’ve never really seen you unclothed?”

“What? But—” She stopped, remembering the darkness of their wedding night.

He shrugged. “Poor lighting. Unfortunate night rails, fortunately brought up to your knees, true, but never removed all the way. But no. You’ve seen more of me than I’ve seen of you. I intend to remedy that.”

She hadn’t seen enough of him. And with the fire of lust banked for the present, she could see that his humor had returned, that quirk to his mouth. He was easy again.

“If we call for a bath midday, won’t the servants guess that we’ve been…”

She paused, delicately searching for words again.

“Rutting,” he pronounced helpfully. “Swiving. Engaging in intercourse, naturally, although that has a rather proper feel about it. I don’t suppose you can call it ‘engaging in intercourse’ when it’s done up against a wall. Tupping, perhaps.”

So many words. So many ways to try it. “What word would you use?”

“I’d say I’ve been having my way with you. And since I know you’ll ask, I’m not done—you’re heading upstairs and removing every stitch of clothing. Now.”

“But everyone will know—”

“Kate.” He set his hand on her wrist. “Ring for a bath.”

She managed it without breaking into a blush. She even managed to ascend the stairs without running, even though she could feel his eyes on her. I’ve never seen you unclothed. True, perhaps, in the strictest sense. But he’d seen down to the core of her barest vulnerabilities. He knew everything—her hidden fears, her secret needs. She knew only the substance of his desire. She could still feel his body pressed against hers, could feel him with the unflinching memory that skin possessed.

She’d seen him without clothing, but she wasn’t sure she had ever seen him naked.

The servants filled the bath with ewer after ewer of steaming water. Her maid fussed around, setting out soap and towels, crushing petals and pouring oils into the water, preparing a rinse of elderflower tea and willowbark for her hair. The woman glanced once at Ned, who watched the proceedings from a chair, but she made no mention of his presence.

When the woman came up behind Kate and set her hands on the laces of her gown, though, Ned spoke. “I’ll take it from here,” he said, his tone calm, as if it were an everyday occurrence that he undressed his wife for her bath. “You may leave.”

The servants were too well-trained to smile knowingly. But Kate’s maid sent a glance to Ned and, without a flicker of emotion crossing her face, walked to the chest of drawers and removed another stack of towels. As if they might spill water all over the place. And how that would happen… Kate’s cheeks heated. The maid set these next to the original set and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Does that blush go all the way down?” Ned walked up to her. His finger traced the meaning of his words—the pink, flushed skin of her neckline, vanishing into the lace at her bodice.

She heated further. “I—oh—”

“Nothing to be done now,” he said. “They all believe we’re indulging our carnal desires. If we don’t do anything, they’ll talk of that, too. We might as well make the best of this.”

He set his hands on her shoulders and turned her gently around. She felt his hands on her laces. She’d been dressed and undressed thousands of times in her life. She’d felt her maids’ hands tug on those crisscrossed ties too many times to count. But they’d never been his hands—big, strong, warm, caressing…yanking?

“Ned, what are you doing back there?”

“They’re stuck.” He sounded confused. “I just pulled this one bit here, and then it knotted, and now this part over here is all tangled. Is this some sort of cruel joke?”

She frowned and peered over her shoulder to see what he

was talking about. Then she bit back a smile. “I suppose, in a manner of speaking. Women call that cruel joke a bow.”

“I disapprove. What on earth is wrong with buttons?”