What You Promised (Anything for Love, Book 4) Page 9

Matthew sat bolt upright. “At ten o’clock in the morning?”

  The rogues who attended his gatherings were just as likely to accost her outdoors during the day. After witnessing her wrapped seductively in her red velvet dress, there were bound to be men eager to offer a proposition. He dragged his hand down his face and groaned. Devil take him. When he’d offered his hand, he’d not expected to feel an overwhelming urge to protect her.

  The lady was proving to be far too distracting.

  “I believe Mrs Chandler likes to feel the wind in her hair and thought she would have more privacy in the park if she left at nine. Hopkins asked me to inform you that she has taken the white mare. As it has been some time since she’s ridden, Billings suggested it was the wisest choice.”

  The hair at his nape prickled to attention. “Please tell me she has not gone out alone.” Nothing surprised him when it came to Priscilla, but he hoped his staff had more sense. “Did no one think to inform me sooner?”

  Lawson frowned. “Usually after a night spent entertaining you insist no one disturbs you before ten.”

  “Yes, but that was before my wife wreaked havoc with my routine.”

  Why could she not spend her days practising the pianoforte, working on her embroidery frame, visiting other ladies eager to talk about their mundane tasks? Why was it that, despite rousing anger, her spontaneous impulses excited him?

  “Billings sent Pike to accompany her,” Lawson said, “though he’s the only groom I’ve ever seen who looks cumbersome on a horse. As such he’s sure to attract a few gapes and stares.”

  “That’s because his arms are larger than a typical man’s thighs.” The news that Pike rode with Priscilla eased Matthew’s fears somewhat. “Well, I suppose there’s one consolation. He hits harder than anyone I’ve ever fought at Jackson’s.”

  “A man like that has his uses. I was glad of his assistance during the fight in the mews last month,” Lawson replied as he laid out the shaving implements with such care and attention one would think they were priceless jewels. “As Mrs Chandler is out, do you still wish to take your meal downstairs?”

  How long did it take to ride in the park? An hour — two at most?

  “Yes. By the time I’m washed and dressed, Mrs Chandler should be home.” When she found him sitting alone, she was bound to feel an ounce of guilt. Consequently, she would be inclined to give him the key to the connecting door.

  “If you have no preference regarding your attire, may I suggest the yellow waistcoat with the midnight-blue coat, sir?”

  Damn. He’d not suffer the embarrassment of informing his valet he’d been locked out of the dressing room. Besides, for Priscilla to feel any remorse did he not need to appear somewhat solemn? Yellow simply wouldn’t do. But then it was not pity he wanted her to feel in her breast.

  “On second thoughts, just hand me my silk robe. I shall eat in here. When Mrs Chandler returns, send her up at once.”

  Lawson inclined his head and retrieved the burgundy dressing gown from the chair. “Shall I leave it on the bed, sir, or do you require assistance?”

  “Leave it on the bed.” Matthew had no problem with nudity, but would rather not flaunt his engorged manhood. He would have to conjure a repulsive image in order to deal with the problem. To be in a state of arousal would not serve him well when dealing with Priscilla.

  The small hand on the mantel clock had moved past eleven when he heard the light rap at his bedchamber door. Matthew was sitting on top of the coverlet, his robe gaping at the chest but covering his modesty, his breakfast laid out on a tray in front of him. The toast in the rack was as cold and hard as stone. The tea in the pot had stewed and resembled runny gravy.

  “Come in.” He buttered a slab of toast with feigned enthusiasm.

  The door eased away from the jamb. Priscilla peered inside. “Hopkins said you wished to see me.”

  “Come in and close the door.” It took a tremendous effort not to gag as he bit into the bread and it crumbled in his mouth. “Lawson informed me you were out riding in the park.”

  She slipped inside and closed the door. “I rode along the Ladies’ Mile, observed the fallow deer in the Pound.” A chuckle escaped from her lips. “It’s so fresh out this morning. I could have stayed in the park for hours, but Pike is not easy company.”

  A ruby glow coloured her cheeks. Her blue eyes sparkled with a vitality that stole his breath.

  “Pike can be rather solemn and not very personable. But he’s loyal and takes his responsibilities seriously. Next time, I might join you. I can’t remember the last time I rode in the morning.”

  What was he thinking? He detested riding.

  She stepped further into the room. “There is nothing like an early morning ride to get the blood pumping.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “It really sets you up for the day.”

  “That has been my experience.” He noted the outdated style of her faded blue riding habit. A sudden desire to lavish her with gifts took hold. “I’m told it’s been a while since you rode. Perhaps you should order a new habit. Something a little brighter. Something to reflect your sunny disposition.”

  A smile lit up her face but quickly faded. “Under the circumstances, it would be unwise to be frivolous.” She brushed the sleeves of her coat. “This will be fine for now.”

  Matthew considered the woman before him. Most ladies of his acquaintance would not refuse the offer of new clothes. They had no care where the money came from to fund their extravagant tastes. Nothing was more important than being seen in fashionable garments. His wife was not so shallow. His wife saw their marriage as a partnership. Once he’d repaid the vowel and implemented his plan to beat the card-sharps, he would give her everything she needed and more.

  “You do not desire a new riding habit?” He was keen to understand her reasoning.

  She shrugged. “I would like to believe I am not so vain as to put financial pressure on my family merely to satisfy a whim.”

  The word family prickled like pins digging into his shoulders. In his experience, family were not to be trusted.

  “Indeed.” He pushed the tray away and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “May I ask you a question?”

  Her gaze journeyed southward over his robe, lingered on his bare legs. Pushing two fingers down between the ruffled blouse and her throat, she sucked in a breath.

  Matthew suppressed a grin though he felt like a disgruntled mistress using every tactic possible to secure a lover’s attention.

  “You’re my husband. You may ask me anything you like.”

  “And you’ll answer honestly?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Of course. Does truthfulness not form the basis of our marriage?”

  For nigh on twenty years, Matthew’s family had branded him a liar. He knew what he’d seen that day in the forest. But it was easier to forsake a small boy than ruin reputations. Consequently, Priscilla had no idea what hearing the truth meant to him.

  Matthew shook the memory away, forced himself to concentrate on the woman before him.

  “Vain is the last word I would use to describe you,” he said as an unexpected feeling of admiration filled his chest. “So I am curious to know what prompted you to come downstairs last night. What prompted you to dress in such a way as to secure every man’s attention?”

  There was a brief silence as she nibbled her bottom lip and her chest rose and fell rapidly. It took tremendous strength of character to be candid. Would she falter?

  “My only objective was to secure your attention.” From her firm jaw, he knew the words had been difficult to say. “I have no interest in any other man.”

  “Then you must know you succeeded.”

  Despite pursing her lips, she could not hide the glimmer of satisfaction. “I hoped as much.”

  “Then why lock the connecting door between our rooms? Surely you knew I would visit you in your chamber.”

  Silence ensued.


  “Be honest with me,” he persisted.

  “It will be difficult for you to understand. I do not think or feel the same way you do. I struggle to separate the physical and emotional.” From the way she moistened her lips, he knew she wanted him, even now. But she stepped back towards the door. “I need more time to harden my heart. It would be foolish to fall in love with you.”

  “Why?” His instant reply confused even him. They were the last words he wanted to hear from anyone’s lips.

  A frown marred her brow. “Can you imagine what it would be like to love someone, to give everything of yourself and know those feelings will never be returned?” With a little shake of the head, her hand settled on the door knob. “As your wife, I will welcome you into my bed, Matthew. But I ask that you be patient with me. I like you. I enjoy your company and hope you can learn to like me equally.”

  Well, he’d asked for honesty, and she’d given it to him.

  The problem was he didn’t know what to make of it. What had he expected? Did he want her to see the act as merely a job, her duty? Did he think a woman brimming with virtue would lie with him like a whore each night?

  “I shall leave you to your breakfast.” She was already halfway out of the door. “I’m to meet Isabella at noon. She is visiting the modiste and requires my opinion on her new wardrobe. Afterwards, I may call on my aunt to see how she fares.”

  He nodded, his mind still somewhat jumbled. “Will you be home for dinner?”

  “If I said yes would we be dining together?”

  “Of course.” He had to go out later in the evening though it would be the last time he visited the gaming hells. After two weeks spent investigating the methods the sharps used to deceive their opponents, he had almost cracked the codes.

  “Then I shall see you this evening.” She slipped out into the hall and closed the door.

  Minutes passed before he moved.

  For days he’d imagined settling between his wife’s cushioned thighs and thrusting home. The thought kept him in a constant state of semi-arousal. The irony of their situation was that he’d needed time to adjust too. He did not want to feel any attachment; he did not want to feel anything other than lust. Most men in his situation would bed her, regardless. The women he’d had in the past always appreciated his skill for giving pleasure. Just because Priscilla was his wife why should it be any different?

  But then realisation dawned.

  The truth knocked him back like a kick to the gut. His obsession with honesty was the problem. Other women had wanted nothing but his cock. He’d wanted nothing but to satisfy an urge. There had been no expectations, just an honest arrangement.

  But things were different now.

  Priscilla needed more than the use of his body. His disdain for lies and falsehoods would make him a hypocrite if he tried to ignore her wishes.

  Damnation. It was all a bloody mess. His time would be better spent plotting revenge on the card-sharps than fantasising about bedding his wife.

  Chapter 11

  The instruction to meet Matthew for a pre-dinner drink in the drawing room took Priscilla by surprise. After revealing she was in danger of falling in love, his desire to spend more time together was the last thing she expected.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she pushed at the half-open door. Matthew was lounging on the sofa, legs stretched out in front and crossed at the ankles. The spicy scent of cologne in the air teased her nostrils. His intoxicating smell brought to mind passionate kisses in the carriage; the masculine taste had coated her lips for hours.

  Upon noting her arrival, Matthew jumped up. Penetrating emerald eyes scanned her plain muslin dress, a garment far removed from the vibrant gown she’d worn to the party. But there were many facets to her character. One dress did not define her.

  “Were you expecting me to wear something more fetching?”

  “Not at all.” The corner of his mouth curled up. “Where you're concerned, I would not make the mistake of presuming anything.”

  The comment made her sound impulsive, daring, those qualities necessary to excite a man. If only it were true. “Someone once said that a person's outward appearance often reflects their inner thoughts. One's choice of clothes can convey mood and purpose.”

  “Based on what I know of your character, I would agree.” His inquisitive gaze scrutinised her from head to toe. “Last night you were a woman intent on seduction. Every delicious element conveyed strength and determination. Tonight, you are the natural, unassuming woman whose life is entwined with mine.”

  As always, his response was insightful.

  “And which one do you prefer?”

  “Both, for together they make for an interesting combination.”

  A sudden fluttering filled her chest. “Unlike us, most married couples spend time together before deciding to wed. They learn of each other’s likes and dislikes, appreciate the similarities, respect the differences.” She was growing accustomed to speaking so candidly. “We’ve been swept up in a whirlwind and must find a way to muddle through.”

  “I know it’s a cliche, but things will become easier over time. Equally, every minute should be enjoyed and savoured.”

  How close would they be a year from now? Would they still be lovers? Would the excitement she felt today be something more profound tomorrow? Perhaps she’d made a mistake telling him she intended to harden her heart.

  Priscilla sighed. “Worrying about the future can ruin the present. Sometimes I think too much, panic about how things should be. But I expect nothing from you other than your friendship and support.”

  Guilt flared. It wasn’t the whole truth.

  “I have the utmost regard for your opinion, even if it highlights my weaknesses.” He gestured to the decanters on the side table. “What would you like to drink? Instincts say pour you a sherry, but I suspect I am far from the mark.”

  “Sherry is often too sweet, but a nip of brandy will suffice. Uncle Henry believes buying sherry for ladies is a waste of good money. He believes we should all stick to drinking tea. Yet having learnt of his penchant for gambling, I’m convinced it has something to do with not paying his bills.”

  “No doubt you're right.” Matthew moved to the drinks table, pulled the crystal stopper from the decanter and poured two glasses of brandy. “Lord Callan’s solicitor is yet to contact me about payment of your dowry.”

  “Well, I’d like to say that such things take time to arrange.” Doubt surfaced. “But I fear he may be stalling. Will it be a problem?”

  Matthew returned, glasses in hand. Priscilla’s fingers brushed his as she took the drink. The frisson of awareness she’d felt on that first night in the garden returned.

  “I hope not.” He raised his glass in salute. “To muddling through.”

  “To muddling through.”

  Their gazes locked over the rim of the glass as she sipped the brandy. The fiery liquid warmed her chest although she suspected the spirit had nothing to do with the heat building between her thighs.

  “Was there a reason you wanted to meet in here before dinner?” The question had plagued her for an hour or more. The soothing effects of the brandy gave her the courage to ask.

  “It seems we have reached a knot in the thread, so to speak, and must work to unravel it if we have any hope of moving forward. This morning you said you liked me and enjoyed my company. I feel the same way about you. Perhaps building a solid friendship is a good place to start.”

  Priscilla's heart swelled. “People will chastise us for our modern way of thinking. Most married couples lead separate lives. Well, except for Tristan and Isabella.”

  Two lines appeared between his brows. “Do you regret the decision you made in Holbrook’s garden? Tristan would have done the honourable thing. He would have forsaken his own happiness to save your reputation.”

  She did not need to consider the question. “Tristan is like a brother. Any physical relationship would have been impossible. Ruination was the only option
had you not played the hero.”

  His expression darkened. “I am far from a hero.”

  “You have never lied to me, Matthew. That is one quality of a hero. I know why you married me — to save your friend, to save yourself and to help me too. It might not qualify as heroic, but it was not an entirely selfish decision.”

  “There was another reason.” His heated gaze fell to her lips. “It is only right you know the truth about the man you married. Friends don’t lie, and so I ask you to forgive my bluntness. I married you because I wanted to bed you. I wanted to pleasure you until your innocent mouth begged to be fucked.”

  This time his honesty stole her breath. “Well! Heavens!” She swallowed. “Now I know why you rattled the door fifteen times or more last night.” One had to find amusement in the situation.

  He narrowed his gaze. “Damn. So you were awake. Do you know what it's like to lie in bed all night with a throbbing erection?”

  “Thankfully, no.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Do you think me disrespectful for speaking so crudely? I fear it stems from spending too much time with reprobates.”

  “Thankfully, no. While your words lack sentiment I appreciate there is a compliment within them somewhere.”

  Slapping a hand to his chest, he laughed. “So now it is clear we share a mutual appreciation, it would be nice if we could be a little more at ease when together.”

  The conversation had helped to clear the air.

  “Perhaps we should work backwards—”

  “It’s my favourite position.”

  “Must every conversation revert to your antics in the bedchamber?”

  “Forgive me, please continue.”

  “I meant we should get to know one another, learn what the other likes and dislikes. For instance, I like picnics and feeling the wind blow my hair. I enjoy sucking the juice from strawberries, laughing until my stomach hurts. Now, what about you?”

  “For fear of the conversation following the usual thread, I shall refrain from telling you what I like. Perhaps at some point in the future, I may be lucky enough to demonstrate.”