9
ISA WENT COLD. “So it’s my fault you’ve become such a hard man,” she whispered. “You blame me for what happened to you.” How could he not? She’d let Jacoba and Gerhart convince her that he would do something entirely contrary to his nature.
And he’d had ten years in which to curse her name, ten years to turn into the bitter man who faced her now.
“I did blame you. But now I don’t know what to think, who to blame.”
At least he was as confused as she was. “Do you think I’m lying about not being directly involved in the theft?”
“Of course not.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “It’s just . . . Damn it, I don’t understand how you could have trusted them! How you could have thought, even for one moment, that I would help them steal something?”
“You thought the same thing of me. How is that any different?”
“But I didn’t believe it,” he said fiercely. “Not at first.”
She swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”
“Since there was no evidence for a week that anything had been stolen, I thought you’d left me and that was all. Out of embarrassment, I kept quiet about the reason for your disappearance. I told the jeweler that you and your family had gone to Brussels to take care of an ill relative.”
He clenched his fists at his sides. “I couldn’t accept that you’d deserted me. I thought—I hoped—you might still return. I would have gone to look for you, but aside from the fact that I didn’t know where to look, and had no money for the search, there was the problem of my position. The jeweler had kindly allowed me to stay on—so I didn’t dare risk that, when I thought the entire reason for your leaving me was my lack of a post.”
“Oh, Victor . . .” she murmured, regret stabbing her yet again.
Ignoring her sympathy, he glanced away. “Besides, your family had supposedly gone to look for you, and I was certain that they would convince you to do your duty by your husband.” He muttered a curse. “I should have known better. They’d left no address, no way to reach them. The whole thing had the markings of a nefarious scheme. But they’d also left their furnishings behind in their house, so I assumed that they would return eventually.”
“It was all mortgaged to the hilt, even the furniture,” she admitted sheepishly.
“Yes, I found that out later, when the creditors came looking for your family and thought I might know where they’d gone.” His jaw went taut. “They weren’t the only ones.”
Her heart began to pound as the ramifications of that sank in. “Because the imitations had been discovered.”
His gaze was bleak and accusing. “Yes.”
“So they did blame you.”
“What do you think?” he snapped, echoing her earlier words. “I was the guard. Either I or the jeweler was in charge of the diamonds until they were taken to the palace. And I’d never told anyone that I’d left the shop briefly in Jacoba’s care. I’d had no reason to; I thought it was a private matter between my wife and me. So I became the main suspect—the one they were convinced had made the switch and kept the real jewels.”
“Oh, Lord, no.” She ached over how that must have mortified a proud man like him. “But once you told them about Jacoba, surely they shifted the blame to her.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Perhaps they would have, if I’d told them. But I didn’t.”
“Why in heaven’s name not?”
“Because it would also have shifted the blame to you, since all three of you were missing. And you were my wife. They believed you to be under my control. If there was any suspicion that you’d stolen the jewels, then it would become my responsibility, too.”
“But that’s not fair!”
“Perhaps not, but the law is rarely fair.” He threaded his fingers through his hair. “In any case, I would have seemed even more culpable if I’d admitted that I’d left Jacoba alone in the shop at night. And that would have led to questions about why I’d done so, and the truth would have come out about your leaving me, which would have led them to think there was some plot afoot . . .”
His gaze fixed on her. “I couldn’t risk it. Especially since I wasn’t sure that you’d stolen anything. I was still praying that the three of you would return to defend yourselves. It didn’t make sense to risk my life—or yours, for that matter—on my uncertain suspicions, when I knew the authorities couldn’t prove anything.”
“So you covered up Jacoba’s involvement?” she said incredulously. “And mine?”
A steely note entered his voice. “I did what I had to, to save myself. I told them the same lie about your going to visit a sick relative in Brussels. I knew they had no evidence linking me to the crime. They searched our apartment, the Hendrix house, and your father’s shop and found nothing—no tools for creating false diamonds, no money, nothing to incriminate any of us.”
“Jacoba took all of that with us,” she said quietly.
“Of course. And without evidence, and the real diamonds, they couldn’t very well prosecute anyone—not when there was still the possibility that someone had broken into the palace to make the switch. I figured it was better to be taken for a dupe than for a complicit dupe. Holding firm and pretending ignorance when they questioned me was the only way to save myself.”
“And us.”
He dragged in a heavy breath. “Yes.”
In all her wondering about what had happened to him, she’d never imagined that he’d been fending off authorities who’d tried to blame him for the theft. No wonder he’d looked fit to throttle her when he’d first seen her. “And they believed you.”
“Eventually.” There was a wealth of bitterness in that word.
“What did they do to you? Did they put you in gaol?”
The ache in her voice must have registered, for he got a lost look on his face that sent a dagger to her heart.
Then his eyes iced over. “I don’t want to talk about it. It’s in the past.”
“Clearly not, given the things you’ve said.”
He walked up to snag her about the waist. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” she said, straining away from him. “I have to know what my actions wrought.”
He leaned close to nuzzle her hair. “Your actions wrought nothing. You’ve made it clear that your family was responsible, not you.”
She could tell from the edge in his voice that he still didn’t quite believe that. Neither did she, entirely. “But I let them use me. Use us. I believed them when they told me you had agreed to help them. Meanwhile, you—” A sob choked her. She clasped his head between her hands, forced him to look into her eyes. “Meanwhile, you were what? I can’t know how much I have to make amends for if I don’t know what happened.”
He stared at her a long moment, features rigid, breath coming fierce and fast. Then his breathing slowed, and something more frightening than anger sparked in his gaze. “You want to make amends?” he said in a harsh rasp as he moved her hands to his neck before gripping her waist. “Then share my bed. Tonight. Now. Prove to me that my memories of our marriage aren’t false. That you really did care for me once.”
The dark glitter in his eyes told her he was serious.
So did the terrifying thrill along her spine. And the idea of being with him again sent a yearning through her that made her belly tighten and her throat go dry.
“Making love never solves anything,” she protested weakly.
A smile ghosted over his lips before he bent to rake kisses along her ear, her cheek, her throat. “It always worked for us.” Then he paused, and his hands tensed on her waist. “But perhaps it didn’t work quite so well for you and some other man.”
“There’s been no other man in my bed since you,” she admitted.
He let out a long breath. Then dragged in another. “Right. And your ‘Rupert’ is just a friend,” he growled, a distinct note of jealousy in his voice.
She jerked back to eye him askance. “You’ve met Rupert. You’ve seen us together. Do you really believe there’s more than friendship between us?”
He gazed steadily at her. “Angus Gordon says you’re in love with the fool.”
“Mr. Gordon wants me and Rupert to be in love. But it’s wishful thinking on his part, nothing more. He assumes that I’m free, which we both know isn’t the case.” She forced a smile. “Even if I were, can you imagine me as a baroness? It’s absurd.”
He didn’t laugh. “Not absurd at all,” he said solemnly. “You’d make a splendid baroness. Just not for a boy like Lochlaw.” His gaze scoured her, rousing heat in whatever part it touched. “You belong in a man’s bed, not a boy’s. You belong in my bed.”
“Vic—”
He cut her off with a devouring kiss that shook all her defenses.
She couldn’t fight him. She was engulfed by the essence of him—scent, taste, heat. It fogged her mind, destroyed her good judgment.
He gripped her arms, lifting her up on tiptoes for hot, ravenous kisses that stoked her own need, and she slung her arms about his neck to keep from teetering. She’d forgotten how strong he was, how much she used to love the very size of him. She’d forgotten how he dwarfed her with his height and broad shoulders and powerful chest.
Reminded of those heady days before they were torn apart, she couldn’t help wanting him. This very moment. She’d been secretly craving this ever since he’d found her.
Blast him for having such a hold over her. He was a randy rogue and a silver-tongued devil, and she didn’t care—as long as he was her rogue, her devil.
He tore his mouth from hers to murmur, “Come to my bed, Isa.”
He dragged openmouthed kisses down her jaw, leaving her gasping for air. Or sanity. She didn’t remember him being so demanding. It probably would have frightened her back then.
It excited her now. “I don’t think that’s wise.”
“Of course it’s not wise. Neither was your showing up here late at night alone, but you did.” Grabbing her hand, he started for the open door to his bedchamber. “Surely you knew this would happen.”
“Certainly not.” But had she? Had a small part of her, the part that still remembered the joyous days of being his wife, come here to seduce him?
Determined to deny it, she slipped her hand from his. “No,” she said, “I didn’t.” She told herself to be strong, to hold out until things were more settled between them. Until she could be absolutely certain she could trust him. “And I definitely don’t think I should go in there with you.” She almost sounded convincing.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”
She squelched a quick disappointment. “It is.”
He gave an exaggerated shrug. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to settle for staying here.” With a knowing smile, he began unbuttoning her riding habit jacket.
“Stop that!” She grabbed his hands. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! I meant I don’t intend to come to your bed.”
“You’re not,” he said blithely. “You’re coming to my . . . er . . .” He glanced about. “My settee. That’s perfectly respectable.”
“Not with what you want to do on it,” she grumbled. “And it’s not your settee. This isn’t even your house, for pity’s sake.”
When she tried to move away, he pulled her back, eyes gleaming. “My host won’t mind, I promise.” Swiftly, he undid the rest of her buttons. “If we ruin anything, I’ll replace it.”
“You can afford that?” she said dubiously.
He shoved her riding jacket off and tossed it aside. “I can afford whatever it takes to have you again, lieveke.”
Little sweet one. The Flemish endearment reminded her powerfully of her homeland, and it melted her as Mausi never had. She really ought to stop him. She really ought not to be standing here like a ninny, smelling his musk oil scent and gazing at his crooked smile.
His crooked, seductive smile, which destroyed the rest of her objections. She remembered how it had curved his lips whenever he’d come toward her in the tiny bedchamber in their apartment. She remembered seeing it and knowing what it meant, and thrilling to the promise of it.
Blast him.
Breath quickening, he untied her chemisette and tossed it away to expose her far-too-revealing riding corset, with only a hint of chemise peeking above it. She went still as his gaze drifted down to where her bosom was half-uncovered. He skimmed the back of his hand along the swells of her breasts with a tenderness that made her heart flutter.
Foolish heart. No matter how much she lectured it, it was still ridiculously susceptible to him.
As if he’d guessed it, his eyes locked with hers. “Tell me you don’t want me as much as I want you. Tell me that you never once missed our marital bed in the past ten years, and I will let you walk out of here right now.”
She closed her eyes, hoping that not seeing him would make it easier to lie—but his fingers felt like fire on her skin, and the scent of him, so close, made her head swim, and she could no more speak than she could run from the room.
“That’s answer enough for me,” he rasped, then he turned her swiftly around so he could work loose her corset ties with frenzied movements.
Swaying against him, she felt the rigid bulge of his arousal against her bottom, but before she could even react, he’d slipped his arm about her waist to pull her into him more firmly.
“I wanted to do this Saturday night,” he murmured in her ear as his hands pushed down her corset enough to close over her breasts, kneading, teasing. “I wanted to strip you naked and take you right there, against that pillar; to claim you as mine before God and everyone.”
“That would have sparked a public riot. What would your family have said?”
“My family?” He slid one hand down her skirts to cup her between her thighs, and his tone sharpened. “Ah. You mean the baron.” He rubbed her roughly, making her gasp, then squirm. “Who whisked you away from me while I was still trying to get control over myself.”
A control he was denying her now, by inciting her with wicked caresses. One hand tormented her above while the other pleasured her below.
Exquisite torment. Dangerous pleasure. Both she could ill afford.
She dug her fingers into his muscular thighs, but she couldn’t make herself shove free of his grasp. “Rupert brought me home . . .” she managed, “because I . . . asked him to.”
“Because you were too much a coward to face me.” He tweaked her nipple, and the piercing pleasure made her moan. Verdomme, he’d always known how to rouse her.
Turning in his arms, she untied his banyan and shoved it from his shoulders. “I’m facing you now,” she whispered as she shimmied out of her loosened corset and tossed it aside.
With a groan he untied her chemise and pulled it down just enough to bare her breasts, then bent to take one in his mouth, then the other, tonguing her and teasing her and driving her to distraction. A growing urgency made her undulate against him and he backed her toward the bedchamber door, halting only long enough to dispense with her skirt, petticoats, drawers, and stockings, which he dropped into a heap about her feet.
“I missed you,” he murmured as he ran his gaze over her. “I missed this.”
The wildness in his eyes called to the wildness in her heart, reminding her of the Victor she remembered, the one who couldn’t keep his hands off her, whose gaze ate her up like a dragon feasting on virgins.
Except that she was no longer a virgin, even if she felt like one after so many years of abstinence. And with him standing in front of her, tempting her, it was hard to be cautious.
Part of her had to know if their lovemaking had been as perfect as she remembered. The Victor she’d created over the past decade was crumbling, but she still wasn’t sure how much of him, how much of her marriage, had been illusion and how much had been real. She had to find out.
All the same, even she was surprised by her next words. “Take your clothes off.” That throaty voice didn’t even sound like hers.
Heat and surprise flared in his face. “Grown bold, have you?” he rasped, but he practically ripped the buttons from his shirt in his haste to remove it.
“Yes.” She let her gaze drink him up as he shucked off his trousers. “I had no choice but to change if I wanted to take care of myself. I’m a different woman now. Are you sure you can handle that?”
The savage intensity in his look made her pulse jump. “Perhaps you should be sure you can handle me.” Without warning, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the other room to lay her on a very elegant bed. She was still lying there, stunned, when he covered her body with his.
Planting his hands on either side of her head, he loomed over her to add, “I’m different now, too.”
When he coupled that with a thrust against her below, a frisson of fear and arousal slid along her nerves. This new Victor could be very dangerous. She still didn’t know how he’d found her, why he’d come here, if he was here for revenge. All of that should give her pause.
Yet it merely emboldened her further.
“Really?” With a coy smile, she slid her hand inside his drawers to cup the hard length of him. “You don’t feel any different.”
He hissed through his teeth, his member hot against her palm. “Some things never change, wife. And I begin to think that wanting you is one of them.”
Before she could exult in those words, he seized her mouth with his.
After that, she was all instinct and urges, rising to the kiss and letting him explore whatever parts of her he wished. Better yet, she was exploring whatever parts of him she wished, something she would never have dared to do in the week after they married.
Some things hadn’t changed—his body, for one. He still had a nice sprinkling of hair across his chest, and solid muscle still roped his abdomen. She’d barely been brave enough to touch those muscles when she was young, but now she couldn’t wait to kiss and tongue them.
To her delight, his muscles flexed and rippled beneath her mouth, his skin went taut, and his caresses of her grew bolder and hotter and harder, until she was shimmying beneath him.
“I want you, too,” she whispered. “Victor . . . please . . .”
With a growl, he slid out of his drawers and began drawing up her chemise. “When did you turn into such a temptress?” he said hoarsely.
“After you left me.” She nuzzled his roughly whiskered jaw. “When I realized that I hadn’t seized what I wanted when I should have.”
His gaze was raw need. “Seize it now. Show me what you want.”
“You.” She pulled her knees up to allow him to settle between her thighs. “Inside me.”
His eyes blazed down at her. “Thank God.” And with a guttural groan, he entered her in one hard thrust.
She tensed at the suddenness of it, and he froze.
“Too rough?” he choked out.
“No,” she whispered and reached around to fill her hands with his bare buttocks. His exceedingly firm buttocks. Dear heaven. She squeezed, taking a feminine delight in his moan and the way he hardened even more inside her. “Too long since I lay with you, that’s all. But I’m ready now.”
When she punctuated her words by writhing beneath him, his gaze turned a molten gold. “I’ve been ready for a decade.”
He began to move, slowly at first, as if gauging her response. But as she rose to his thrusts, he quickened his motions until all she could do was grip his shoulders and hold on for dear life.
She couldn’t believe she’d forgotten what it was like to be filled by him, to be plundered by a man who wanted her, needed her. To have his heat against her skin, his hands all over her.
To have him driving into her so deeply that she could see only the fine sheen of sweat on his skin and the glitter of his hungry gaze as he took her, feel only the intimate press of his body to hers as the whirlwind swirled up from somewhere hidden to seize her and take her higher . . . farther . . .
“Come for me,” he gasped as he plunged into her. “Come for me . . . as you used to, my beautiful . . . temptress of a wife . . .”
And she did. Her release hit her like lightning, splitting her present from her past in one blazing flash and hurtling her into the future. With a hoarse cry she arched up into him, and he came, too, spilling himself inside her before collapsing atop her.
And as the whirlwind slowed, the room stopped spinning, and her body slid from pure pleasure to pure contentment, she realized one thing. Her memories had definitely not been an illusion.