2Rakehell (11 page)

Primrose’s mooncalf smile evaporated. She looked dejected.
“That’s not what I was intimating. Not at all, Adam.”

He knew good and well it wasn’t. It pained him that he
caused her discomfort but he’d had to do it. He had to regain control.

She traced a design on the tablecloth with her index finger
and then looked back up. “What else can we do?”

We?
His chest hurt. After everything…
Release her.
Go back to the eastside where your kind belongs.

He opened his mouth to silence her but the waiter approached
with their food. He served Primrose and then put Adam’s plate down, causing
them to break their handhold.

“Is everything to your liking, my lord?”

Adam relinquished Primrose’s gaze. “Yes. Very much so. Thank
you.”

She lifted her fork. Her head tilted knowingly to the
patrons at the right and left. “I think it would be prudent to discuss this
later.”

Adam nodded dumbly. His confession gave him the feeling some
great burden had been lifted off him but fear plagued him that in a short time
Primrose would realize the ramifications of his declaration and come to her
senses.

* * * * *

Primrose sat across from Adam, warm and dry inside the clarence
carriage as rain came down in a torrent outside. The wheels growled as they
churned on the sodden cobblestone streets. Adam sat, eyes fixed on her, his
long legs sprawled as if purposely invading her space.

She still could not believe his admission. He wasn’t
Thorley’s son. Her stomach knotted and her heart filled with sorrow for Adam.
He must have been crushed to discover his mother’s infidelity, to learn he was
not the earl’s son. And the earl… The dear man worshiped Adam.

“Does Hamish know?” Primrose heard the words leaving her lips
before she could take them back.

His stare never wavered. “No.”

“The earl?”

Adam shook his head. “I would never do that to him.”

She blinked against hot tears. “You didn’t leave on our
wedding night because of…of me, did you?”

His nostrils flared as he drew in a breath. “At the time I
thought I did. More than that I sought to punish the earl…for not…for not being
my father. I wanted to die until that night some filthy pickpocket dared hold a
knife to my throat. It was childish of me.”

She clenched her gloved fist to keep from reaching across
the brief expanse of the coach to take his hand.
All those wasted years…

“I was ashamed,” he admitted. “As soon as my mother told me
of my true, humble lineage I resolved never to marry. I hoped that I would die
young and the title would pass—as it should—to my cousin.”

“You could have told me. I would have understood.”

“Would you have?” One dark eyebrow lifted in question. “I
hardly knew you the day we said our vows.”

Primrose lifted her chin. “I would have understood,” she
repeated, tapping her chest for emphasis.

The ice in his eyes warmed. “I left to give you an out. You
could have had the marriage annulled and gone back to America.”

“I know,” she said softly, her voice all but drowned out by
the hammering rain.

“Did your parents force you to stay?”

“No,” she whispered. “I’ve told you already. I stayed
because I hoped you’d return. One day turned into one week. That week turned
into months and then years.”

“And then you came looking for me.” His mouth turned up in a
smile that melted her tension.

“Why are you so damned stubborn?” she asked, returning his
smile.

“Because I know what I am. Who I am. No one deserves to be
shackled to a pretender.”

She arched an eyebrow. “It was I who shackled you if you
recall.”

He chuckled. “It was wicked of you and I still haven’t
forgiven you for it.” His playful tone indicated otherwise.

“I’m still awaiting my punishment.” Her cheeks flushed with
warmth at her bold statement.

“And you shall have it, but Primrose, you’re avoiding the issue
at hand.”

She sighed. She didn’t want to talk about this. With all his
morose talk, he seemed to be pushing her away with both hands and at the same
time drawing her ever closer. Confusion muddled her thoughts.

His gaze drifted toward the rain-soaked window and a muscle
in his jaw flexed. “I feared you’d want to be free of me.”

Pain stabbed her in the heart. The last thing she wanted was
to be free of him. She wanted to bear his children, to spend the rest of her
life waking up next to him. Why couldn’t he see that? “I apologized to you for
my part in tricking you into marriage but I am not sorry for it, Adam. Given
the chance I’d do…” Her throat constricted. “I’d do everything all over again.”
She swallowed thickly. “Except for let you leave.”

He was silent for so long she thought she might scream but
determination set in to make him utter the next words. Finally his shoulders
rose and fell heavily as he drew in a deep breath. His lips parted and just as
he was about to speak a loud crack came from under the carriage.

The vehicle lurched to the side and the last thing Primrose
saw before the carriage toppled was Adam lunging toward her to drag her into
his arms.

“Primrose…”

Adam’s voice sounded far away but rushed suddenly toward her
with sickening clarity. “Prim darling, are you all right?”

She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to stay here enfolded in
her husband’s arms, but something was wrong. Something happened…

Willing herself to consciousness, she opened her eyes and
immediately regretted it.

The coach had overturned.

She lay on top of her husband, his hand shielding her head
as the door swung to and fro above her. Outside, the shrieking of a horse
pierced the waning rumble of thunder.

“Are you hurt?” Adam asked, his gaze rambling over her face
as he obviously searched for scrapes or bruises.

Awareness of her body seeped back slowly. Other than budding
soreness she felt no sharp stabs of pain. “I’m fine I think.”

His sigh fanned her cheek.

Alarm flooded her. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” he said as he lifted her off him. “I need to see about
the driver and the footmen.”

Drawing her feet up, she scooted back to give him room to
maneuver in the awkward confines of the coach.

Seizing the doorframe, he nimbly hauled himself up. The
coach shook as he leapt to the ground.

Clutching at the seats Primrose stood, eyeing the opening.
There was no possible way she’d ever be able to get out the same way he had.
Not wearing these heavy skirts.

Great droplets of water dripped in from the overhang of trees
above and she shielded her face as she listened to the terse voices outside.

“He’s dead,” she heard Adam’s voice over the wild screaming
of the horse.

Dead? Someone had died? The driver? One of the footmen
?
Primrose bit the back of her knuckle to keep from crying out.

“Give me your pistol,” she heard Adam say.

Holding her breath she awaited the shot she knew would
follow. It rang out with a crack that rent the muggy air and then the horse’s
cries abruptly stopped. Dear God, what had happened?

Someone had died. The horse had been injured so badly it’d
had to be put down. Her knees went weak and she clutched at the seats to keep
from falling. She or Adam could have been hurt—or worse.

Moisture coursed down her face and she didn’t know whether
it was a tear or the rain. She suddenly didn’t know what to think. Her whole
body shook. Panic welled in her breast and her skin crawled with the closeness
of the capsized coach.

She had to get out of here. The seats, the swinging door,
the walls all seemed to be closing in on her. She couldn’t draw in a deep
enough breath.

Her heart hammered. Her stomach lurched and she gagged. She
shook her head against the bitter bile in her throat and prayed she wouldn’t
vomit.

“Adam,” she squeaked, desperate to get out of here even
though what she might find outside would be worse. “Adam…”

The coach trembled and two hands descended in front of her
face. She looked up, grateful to see her husband’s strained face. The sulfurous
stench of gunpowder filled her nostrils.

“Is there anywhere you can get a foothold? I’m going to pull
you out,” he said.

Hiking up her skirt, she planted one shoe against the seat
and then reached up to him. With a grunt, he pulled her up until she could sit
on the side.

It was worse then she’d imagined.

The driver lay at the edge of a ditch. Adam’s frock coat
rested respectfully over the man’s face. Primrose purposefully avoided looking
in the direction of the dead horse. One of the footmen sat at the edge of the
muddy road holding his arm close. Since there was no blood on his sleeve
Primrose assumed he’d twisted it or had possibly broken it.

The other footman sat next to him holding his head in his
hands.

“Are they hurt?” Primrose asked.

“They’ll mend,” Adam said quietly. “What about you? Are you
positive you’re not injured?” Concern was evident in the furrow of his brow and
the stern set of his mouth.

The memory of him hauling her against him flashed through
her head. “I am not…thanks to you.”

His palm swept tenderly over her cheek. When the flinty ice
in his gaze softened, her pulse rioted. The muscles in his throat worked as he
swallowed. “Thank God. I don’t know what I’d do if I—”

The hope of hearing a declaration of his affections was
dashed when another coach rumbled up the road.

At once Adam bounded to the ground and waved his arms to
hail the driver.

Myriad emotions flitted through her while the other brougham
stopped and its crew climbed down to help. Heartache that a trusted member of
their staff was dead. Sadness for the faithful horse that had given many years
of service to the inhabitants of Scarborough Hall. Concern for the injured
footmen and relief that neither she nor Adam had been harmed.

It could have been so much worse.

As she processed those feelings another intruded. Adam had
protected her. She swallowed thickly at the memory of the look in his eyes when
he’d caressed her cheek. She trailed her gloved fingers over the spot he’d
touched, still feeling the warmth, the gentleness she hadn’t thought he
possessed.

Something had shifted between them. The cord of their
tenuous connection strengthening was palpable.

And terrifying.

Because she knew if he left her again she’d never, not ever,
come to terms with it.

* * * * *

“Thank you, Midge,” Primrose said as she stood from her
dressing table.

Midge curtsied and left the room.

Primrose sighed. She hadn’t realized how sore she was from
the accident. A hot bath filled with soothing salts had helped her relax and
now the idea of dressing for dinner seemed unthinkable.

She’d donned her dressing gown and had decided to spend the
evening in her rooms.

A soft knock sounded on the connecting door between her
chamber and Adam’s.

Primrose’s heart raced. “Come in.”

Adam opened the door, looking resplendent in a burgundy
lounging robe and dark Japanese silk pajamas. Behind him a servant wheeled a
cart bearing a covered tray. “After everything that happened I thought it best
to have supper in our rooms tonight.”

He began to pour two glasses of wine as the servant removed
the cover from the platter to reveal several plates of fruit, cheese and cold
chicken.

Primrose hadn’t realized how hungry she was until just now.
And how grateful she was for a glass of wine until he handed it to her.

The servant disappeared, closing the door behind him.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked, slipping his hand around
her neck to thread his fingers into the thick hair at her nape.

“Tired.” She sipped her wine. “Sore.”

Her fatigue however was all but forgotten when he brushed a
kiss over her forehead. Boldly she put her glass back on the cart and moved
against him, entreating him to hold her.

He set his down as well and his arms wound around her,
drawing her into that safe haven.

She breathed in the scent of soap and skin and the sweet
tobacco he’d smoked sometime earlier. His heartbeat sped up beneath her ear.
One hand tangled into her hair. The other moved slowly and deliberately up and
down her back.

This new intimacy frightened her. Without her collar,
without his commands, her heart was at risk.

“Primrose,” he whispered so that she looked up at him.

One big hand cradled her face as he gazed into her eyes. She
battled the overwhelming impulse to look away.

“Primrose,” he said again as if he were trying to fit her
name to her face—to this moment.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move.

Without warning his mouth descended on hers. He half lifted
her up to him, holding her head in his hand as he claimed her lips. His kiss
was fueled with desperation and need that made her shake all the way down to
her slippers.

Her body responded, softening, awakening. Dampness gathered
in her core and she moved restlessly against him, opening as his tongue plumbed
her mouth.

She whimpered as his fervent kisses traveled to her cheek,
her ear and then her neck.

Desire consumed her, threatening to render her to ash in his
arms.

She ached for the safety of her collar, for the freedom to
experience pleasure robbed of her will. Like this she was far too vulnerable.
And she had far too much to lose.

His fingers found the buttons of her dressing gown and he
made quick work of them. The silk pooled around her as she shrugged free. His
lips left her long enough for him to haul her nightgown over her head, leaving
her naked, on fire and shivering at the same time.

His gaze drank her in just before he swept her off her feet
and carried her to the bed. He hurriedly peeled off his own clothing as he
climbed onto the mattress. Parting her knees with his, he came down inside her,
filling her, claiming her.

She gasped at the welcome intrusion. They’d lain together
countless times since he’d returned, but this…this felt like the first time.

His eyes bored into her, peeling her protective shell away
layer by heartache-honed layer until her soul was bared. Exposed. Could he see
how much she loved him? And what would he do if he knew?

She succumbed to the need to close her eyes.

“Look at me,” he told her. It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t
domination. It was a plaintive request—as if he needed her to see him.

Her eyes fluttered open and her gaze found his. Oh dear Lord
why did it feel as if she had a stone in her chest? She simultaneously ached
and burned with desire. He looked at her as if he…as if he loved her.

“Touch me,” he murmured. She needed no further
encouragement. Her palms skimmed his sinewy arms, his shoulders, his chest.
Steel encased in velvet.

A part of her sought to memorize every inch of him in the
event he was ripped from her.

He moved into her, not with urgency but with a deliberate
sense of possession. He withdrew almost completely only to glide into her
again, pushing against her body. The only thing keeping her from inching toward
the headboard was his arm under her shoulders anchoring her, holding her
against him.

Her hands explored the rigid muscles of his back, his taut,
tapered waist and lower where his buttocks rippled like the shivering flanks of
a prized stallion as he drove in and out of her.

His gaze dropped to her lips and before she could draw her
next breath he kissed her again. A growl rumbled deep in his throat as his
hands found hers, drawing them above her head, his fingers lacing with hers.

She opened her legs wide, taking as much of him as she
could, grinding her clitoris against his pelvis as his body countered hers. It
was a heady mix of lust and love, a combustible need she sensed he felt as much
as she did.

I love you…

She would have said it. She would have admitted it in spite
of everything, in spite of the risks, had he not been kissing her so
thoroughly.

Her legs entwined with his. Sexual need obliterated all
coherent thought as his mouth left hers and moved to her ear. She twisted her
neck, giving him better access. How was it possible for every inch of her body
to become a zone of erotic pleasure?

“No one has ever made me feel this way,” he whispered
against the shell of her ear.

What way?
She yearned to ask but she couldn’t bring
herself to utter the words.

His teeth raked her earlobe. “I want you on top of me. I
want to watch you, touch you, see your face when you come, darling.”

He’d told her she’d never be on top again without his permission
but she didn’t question it as he scooped an arm beneath her and in one smooth
motion turned over, taking her with him.

Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, the ends curling
provocatively at her breasts. Unaccustomed to being in control, she lowered her
lashes. Her cheeks flushed with warmth and her stomach seized when she reveled
in the sight of his sculpted shoulders and chest—and lower to where they were
connected.

“Touch me.” His request was but a husky breath.

Exploring the hard planes of his chest and abdomen she began
to move slowly. Rhythmically. His groin countered hers perfectly. Astride him
she sensed every inch of the length and girth of his cock. Stretched to
capacity, she loved the way his body fit hers.

He raked a lock of her hair away from one breast and cupped
it, weighing its fullness then kneading her nipple with his thumb and index
finger. “You are so very beautiful,” he said, his gaze fixed on her breast as
if he were worshipping her body.

Do you love me as I love you?
She wanted so very much
to know. Pride prevented her from asking. Fear. Not knowing and believing it a
possibility was far better than risking a second rejection from him.

His eyes lifted to hers, kindling those smoldering embers in
her belly. Their gazes held until she saw deeper than the dark amber of his
irises, the flecks of gold and the fathomless pools of his pupils. For the
first time he was unguarded and open. Chills raced up her back and arms as she
saw how his soul had been etched with betrayal and lies, with guilt and shame
secreted so far inside he could no longer define his own emotions.

And then as if he grasped that she saw too much, his palm
circled her nape and he drew her down, lifting his head to capture her lips
again and again. This kiss—this tender kiss—awakened the possibility of a
future within her even as the meeting of their tongues ratcheted her pleasure
higher and higher.

Emboldened, she caught his face in her hands and held him as
she took control of the kiss. She pushed her hips down, grinding her clitoris
against him, Mastering her own ecstasy until that elusive quickening drew
nearer. Hovering on the brink, she savored this moment, this connection for
several electrifying seconds and then she found release.