Eight
Gabriel gave a faint grimace as they entered the shadowed mustiness of the grotto. Although it was thankfully dry, most of the delicate furnishings had been removed and only dust and cobwebs remained.
Perhaps it had not been such a brilliant notion after all, he wryly conceded.
When he had first pondered an appropriate place to have his wife to himself, the island had struck him as a perfect location. Not only would they be assured of their privacy, but there was a lingering sense of love that his grandparents had created.
Now he could only give a rueful sigh at his choice. They might be alone, but there was nothing romantic about sitting upon a hard floor with the threat of spiders lurking in the corners.
He had warned Humbly he possessed no hand at wooing women.
Still, there was nothing to do but attempt to make the best of the situation.
“Dear heavens, it is worse than I feared,” he admitted with a glance toward his silent companion. “Are you game, or would you prefer to return to the house?”
She gave a faint shrug. “We have come this far. I do not propose to cry craven unless you wish to do so.”
“Good girl,” he complimented her with a smile. With swift motions he spread a blanket upon the floor, then, waiting for Beatrice to take a seat, he settled close beside her and began to fill the plates with the large quantity of food that had been provided by Cook. “Ah, a veritable feast,” he said, handing one of the full plates to Beatrice. “Here.”
“Thank you.” With a rather self-conscious manner she began delicately tasting the salmon in lobster sauce, beef, olives, potatoes, and fresh oranges.
Gabriel poured them both a glass of champagne before leaning back to regard his wife with a curious expression.
“Now, tell me more of your childhood.”
She appeared startled by his command. “There is little to tell. In truth, it was all very dull.”
“Indulge me,” Gabriel insisted, wanting to know more of this woman he had made his countess. In far too many ways they were still virtually strangers. If he hoped to achieve a more intimate relationship, he realized he needed to know more of her hidden thoughts and feelings.
She paused before giving a lift of her hands. “I was fortunate in that my parents were very devoted to me.”
“They were good parents?”
Her lips twisted. “As you know, they are beautiful, charming, and the darlings of society. You can imagine their confusion when they were given a daughter like me. They did their best, however, to hide their dismay.”
Gabriel was not overly impressed. He had only briefly met his in-laws, but they had struck him as shallow nitwits who had no true comprehension of their daughter’s unique qualities.
“Not well enough,” he muttered.
She lifted her brows. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Being beautiful and charming or even the toast of society is all well and good, but possessing a kind and generous soul is far more commendable,” he said in forceful tones. “That they allowed you to believe you were somehow lacking the finer qualities is reprehensible.”
“Oh, no.” She set aside her plate, her brow furrowed. “They never intended to make me feel as if I were lacking in anything. Indeed, they would be horrified if they thought I was in any way discomfitted. It was simply a matter of differing tastes. They enjoyed the glitter of London, while I preferred to remain in Surrey with my grandfather.”
“They should have made more of a push to take an interest in you,” he retorted.
“They did their best.”
It was obvious that Beatrice could not accept that her parents had failed to provide her with the wholehearted approval she deserved. Gabriel wisely shifted the conversation to a happier topic.
“You at least had your grandfather.”
Her expression predictably softened. “Yes. I do not believe that I was ever so happy as when we were together in his workshop. Mama thought him eccentric and something of an embarrassment, for he was forever attired in grubby clothing with dust upon his face. She claimed he appeared more of a farmhand than a wealthy man of business.”
Gabriel gave a soft chuckle. “Having spent several weeks as a farmhand, I find nothing offensive in grubby clothes and dust upon a person’s countenance. I have had far worse upon my own.”
Casting a rueful glance down at her own stained gown, Beatrice wrinkled her nose.
“Clearly I have no aversion to dust and whatnot myself.”
Shifting even closer, Gabriel allowed his gaze to linger over the lush curves that had been driving him to distraction.
“We are well matched, it seems.”
He could see her battle the sudden crackle of awareness that sparked to life between them.
“Yes, well, unfortunately my grandfather died and I reached the age I could no longer ignore my parents’ demands that I present myself in London.”
“A hideous fate, eh?” he teased, discovering it incredibly difficult to concentrate upon their conversation. The need to possess this woman was swiftly becoming a fever in his blood. Never could he recall desiring a woman with such force.
“Fairly hideous,” she retorted, her own breath uneven.
“You were not alone in your misery, you know,” he murmured softly. “I cannot conceive the lure of spending weeks upon weeks enduring that choking black air, the cluttered streets, and overdressed fops. Even worse were the crowded ballrooms where a gentleman could not take a step without being latched on to by some matchmaking mama. Gads, I still have nightmares about my brief stay.”
She appeared remarkably unsympathetic to the trial he had endured.
“You were there only a few weeks; I was forced to remain for three Seasons.”
“My sympathies,” he swiftly consoled her, then, noting the sudden frown that tugged at her brows, he leaned forward. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” She attempted to dismiss her concern.
“Beatrice.”
She gave a restless shrug. “I was just thinking that had I had my way, I would have been in Surrey rather than London and we should never have met.”
Gabriel could not prevent his sudden scowl.
Never to have met Beatrice?
It was unthinkable.
Surely she had been destined to become Countess of Faulconer?
To be his wife?
To even consider another was unbearable.
He was briefly shaken by the stark intensity of his reaction to her words. As well as by the realization that Beatrice clearly shared no similar sense of fate.
“Yet another reason to detest London, eh, my dear?” he said, his tone more harsh than he had intended.
A faint color touched her cheeks. “No doubt for you as well. Had I not been available you would have found another heiress who would have been far more amenable than I.”
He did not doubt for a moment than any number of women would have been more amenable. Indeed, he would be hard pressed not to find another who was more amenable than Beatrice.
Unfortunately, not one of them had done more than bore him senseless within a few moments.
“Unlike you, I do not regret our marriage. Indeed, I become more convinced each passing day I could not have made a better choice.”
Her lashes abruptly lowered over her eyes, as if seeking to hide her inner thoughts.
“You did not wish to marry for love?”
Gabriel briefly considered her question. He had rarely thought of marriage. Without hope for an inheritance and destined for a career in the military, he had precious little to offer a maiden. And in truth, after his own childhood, a family seemed far more a burden than a blessing.
It was only after Beatrice had arrived at Falcon Park that he had discovered a restless urge to build more than a chilled partnership. He wanted the bonds of genuine friendship. And perhaps someday, if God willed it so, children to call his own.
“It is difficult to desire what you have never known,” he said carefully. “Certainly my parents possessed no feelings for each other. Even those acquaintances of mine who wed for so-called love more often than not became swiftly disillusioned and realized too late such a fickle emotion is a treacherous basis for marriage. Surely it is best to search for a partner you respect and truly enjoy spending time with?”
She absently plucked at a ribbon upon her gown. “My parents have always possessed a great love for each other. A love that has only strengthened over time.”
Gabriel grimaced as he realized that beneath Beatrice’s brisk competency was a heart that ached for love. A love that she had no doubt hoped she had found in him.
Damn.
Would reminders of his treachery never end?
“I suppose every marriage is as different as the people who say their vows,” he said gently. “We have a great deal between us to build a strong relationship.”
Her gaze abruptly lifted in surprise. “I would say we have very little between us.”
“We both care for Falcon Park,” he pointed out in reasonable tones.
“I suppose.” She was forced to concede.
“We both prefer the country to London,” he continued. “Neither of us suffers fools gladly, and we both have our own interests so that we are not constantly tripping over each other.”
She smiled wryly at his imminent logic. “Preferring to go our own way and disliking fools is not precisely the stuff the poets spout about.”
Gabriel was not about to be put off. Not when he was quite convinced that they were so well suited.
“Perhaps not, but admit, Beatrice, that you would be miserable with an overbearing husband who demanded your constant attention and refused to allow you to follow your own interests.”
She bit her lip as if debating whether to lie or admit the truth of his words. Then, clearly realizing she could not deceive him, she gave a lift of her shoulders.
“As you say.”
Her grudging concession sent a surge of annoyance through him. Blast it all. Why could she not give in the slightest? For better or worse, they were wed.
Surely she could see it was best to seek what happiness was possible?
What pleasure was possible?
Needing to prove the truth by the only means available, Gabriel determinedly leaned forward. Beatrice could deny the rightness of their being together with her words, but could she resist the power of the need that smoldered between them?
He had to discover if she could.
With a slow motion he reached up to pluck the straw hat from her curls, nonchalantly tossing it aside.
Her lips parted in surprise. “Gabriel.”
“Yes, Beatrice?” he murmured as he shifted to place one hand on each side of her hips and regarded those temptingly parted lips.
“What are you doing?”
“Making you a bit more comfortable.”
“I am perfectly comfortable, thank you,” she choked out.
“Good.” He bent to lightly brush her mouth with his own. “So am I.”
“Gabriel.”
He gently nuzzled the corner of her mouth. “I am merely attempting to assure you that we have more in common than you are willing to admit.”
She stiffened at his soft caress, but much to his satisfaction, she did not push him away.
“I do not think this is wise,” she breathed.
“Do not think, my dear, merely feel,” he urged, angling his head to claim her lips in a seeking kiss.
Heady sweetness swept through him as her lips softened beneath his own. Gads, this was what he had dreamed of night after long night. The feel of her satin lips, the poignant excitement of her hesitant response. Even the faint honeysuckle scent that clung to her skin had invaded his dreams.
A sharp hunger filled him as he lifted his hand to cup the back of her neck. She felt perfect in his arms. So warm, so utterly soft. So tempting.
She trembled, and Gabriel grimly forced himself to ignore the urge to press her backward and allow the passion to sweep over them.
She might be his wife, but she was an innocent. He would not frighten her or steal her pleasure by rushing her.
Easing his lips, he lightly nibbled down the length of her jaw. Her skin was as smooth as the finest silk, and he explored it with fascinated pleasure. From her jaw he moved to the delicate curve of her neck, where he lingered upon the frantic beat of her pulse.
He smiled at the instinctive reaction she could not hide behind her icy indifference. Whatever her anger and disappointment, she still desired his touch. It was not enough, but surely it was something to build upon.
Careful not to startle her, Gabriel allowed his hands to shift to her back, pulling her closer to his aching body. She gasped as her curves were pressed to the hard muscles, but her hands clutched convulsively at his shoulders. His lips returned to her mouth, deepening the kiss with an increasing urgency. He did not wish to frighten her, but the demands of his own body were swiftly taking control.
He wanted this woman.
He ached, trembled, and burned for this woman.
It would have been a frightening knowledge if he were capable of thinking in a rational manner.
Never before had he allowed his desires to consume him. Never before had a woman managed to lodge herself so firmly beneath his fierce self-control.
At the moment, however, there was nothing rational about his thoughts. There was just the delicious warmth of the woman in his arms.
Tentatively touching the curve of her lip with his tongue, Gabriel was vaguely aware of a scraping noise above his head. He paid it no heed as he traced the quivering outline of her mouth. But when it came again with more force than before, Beatrice was determinedly pulling away and regarding him with dazed eyes.
“What was that?” she whispered.
Gabriel did not particularly give a grout, but realizing Beatrice would not relax until he discovered the cause for the ill-timed noise, he forced his stiff body upright and moved to the edge of the grotto.
What he discovered brought a scowl to his countenance.
Bloody hell.
While he had been so enwrapped with Beatrice, he had failed to notice the building bank of clouds that now completely blocked the sun. Lightning abruptly streaked through the air, and a sharp breeze tugged at the nearby trees, causing them to scrape against the tiles of the grotto.
Well, he had discovered the cause of the noise, along with the knowledge he had effectively trapped Beatrice upon the island until the storm had passed.
No doubt the grotto leaked, the wind would blow straight through the loose boards, and they would both be wet and freezing before it was said and done.
He heaved a rueful sigh. He doubted his wife, or any woman for that matter, would be pleased with the sudden turn of events.
So much for his attempt at romance. He truly had no talent for it.
Turning about, he discovered Beatrice on her feet with the familiar wary expression.
He sighed again. It appeared any hope for a satisfying conclusion to his seduction was at an end.
“The wind appears to have stiffened,” he explained as he moved toward the center of the grotto.
“Perhaps we should return to the house.”
He shook his head. “I think we had best remain until the storm passes.”
“Oh, but—”
“Beatrice.” He reached out to lightly clasp her shoulders. “If you disliked the lake when it was perfectly still, you are bound to dislike it even more now.”
As Beatrice glanced toward the lake, which had turned a dark gray with choppy waves, her face paled.
“Yes.”
“There is nothing to do but to remain here for the time being,” he said briskly.
She swallowed heavily. “I suppose.”
Reaching down, Gabriel swiftly repacked the basket and retrieved the blanket.
“Let us move to the back of the grotto. We do not wish to be drenched when the rain arrives.” He steered her toward the back and placed her on a stone bench. Then carefully he draped the blanket over her knees before settling beside her. “Now, it appears we shall have to keep ourselves entertained for quite some time. Do you have any suggestions, my dear?”
A flush warmed her skin at his suggestive tone, but her expression was primly disapproving.
“We could discuss the renovations on Falcon Park.”
Gabriel grimaced. “A rather tedious subject.”
“Would you prefer to discuss the planting season?”
He lifted his hand to lightly stroke the curve of her cheek.
“I would prefer to discuss how very soft your skin feels beneath my fingers. And how those lips are driving me to madness.”
Her breath quickened. “Gabriel.”
“I want you, Beatrice,” he said in husky tones.
The magnificent amber eyes darkened. “Because you need an heir?”
Gabriel froze, his hand falling away in furious disbelief. “What did you say?”
She licked her suddenly dry lips.
“I realize that you must think of the future. As Earl of Faulconer, you must have a son.”
“Bloody hell.” Gabriel rose to his feet and glared down at her stubborn expression. “You give me a good deal of credit to be able to command my body to respond upon demand. And absolutely no credit for the smallest claim to morals.”
She flinched at his sharp words, but her gaze remained disbelieving.
“You do not think of an heir when you kiss me?”
He shoved his hands through his hair. It was that or grasping her and shaking some sense into her thick skull.
Perhaps he should tell her precisely what he was thinking when he kissed her, he thought savagely. That in his deepest dreams she was not a sharp-tongued shrew, but the shy, uncertain girl he had courted. That instead of freezing when he neared, she opened her arms to him and pulled him atop those lush curves. That she softly moaned as he caressed that tender skin and cried out in pleasure when he at last took her.
He grimly reined in the fantasies that threatened to torture his body all over again.
“I damn well do not,” he at last rasped.
“I am not beautiful,” she perversely argued.
He flashed her a disgusted glance. “You know nothing of gentlemen if you believe a pretty countenance is all that makes a woman desirable. I have known any number of Incomparables who have not stirred the least amount of interest.”
Her gaze refused to waver. “Then why do gentlemen pursue them with such determination?”
Gad, but she was an innocent, he acknowledged wryly.
“To be envied by the ton. I assure you that a gentleman who is seeking true passion searches for a woman of warmth and generosity. Not an icy beauty more concerned with her appearance than sharing a deep intimacy.” He regarded her with a hint of regret. “You once offered such warmth. It still flows within you.”
Her head abruptly dipped, as if seeking to hide her expressive countenance.
“I cannot deny that you are capable of making me respond to your touch.”
His lips twisted at her reluctant tone. “Is that such a terrible thing? Most women would be well pleased to feel such desire for their husbands. I assure you that it is not always so.”
He saw a tremble shake her body. “I no longer trust such emotions.”
“Yes.” Gabriel clutched his hands at his sides, a feeling of helpless frustration washing through him. “That is what keeps us apart, is it not? What must I do to regain your trust, Beatrice?”
“I do not know,” she answered slowly.
“Then we are destined to be forever at odds.”
“Gabriel—” Her words abruptly halted as she lifted her head. “What was that?”
Gabriel, too, had heard the ominous sound of splintering wood. It took a moment to realize that it came from directly overhead. A shaft of pure fear shot through him, and in a heartbeat he was rushing forward.
“Beatrice,” he bellowed, throwing himself atop her even as the roof came crashing down.