Regency Scoundrels And Scandals. Louise Allen

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      ‘Dull. I found it very, very dull. But Henry did not seem to think I ought to be enjoying it, you see. He was always rather apologetic about doing it at all, so I assumed it was expected to be horrid.’ Ashe blinked at her frankness. Poor bloody Henry. You idiot. ‘So I had no idea that there was more to it, or that I might enjoy it. Not for a long while. But then there were things people said—when I stopped being a new bride—and things I read. I guessed that perhaps it can be more than just sticky and boring and embarrassing.’

      Bel regarded him hopefully. ‘It is, isn’t it? More? I mean, I began to feel there was something I needed.’ She frowned over the word, then gave her head a little shake as though she could not think of a better one.

      ‘Yes. I promise it is. So much more. So much that will satisfy that need.’ She looked so fragile, sitting up in that big bed. And so nervous and so tired. ‘Bel, you have not considered simply getting married again? It would have been a more conventional way of finding affection. Safer, perhaps.’

      ‘Goodness, no. No, I am absolutely determined never to marry again. You do not know what a husband is really going to be like—look at Henry. I mean, he was a decent, honest, respectable man. He was kind. But he was so dull and he made me be dull—yet I never guessed how it would be until I married him.

      ‘And even if he is not dull, a husband rules his wife and now I know what it is like to be able to think for myself I could not bear it. And then, if by some miracle he did not try to dominate me—imagine how awful it must be to be married to the sort of man who did not care what you did and positively encouraged you to take lovers. How do you respect a man like that?’

      ‘And unlike a husband, you can change a lover if he does not please you? Like a library book?’ Ashe asked, only half-jesting.

      ‘No! You should not treat people like that.’ Bel wriggled up against the pillows, forgetting to be shy in her indignation. ‘That is why I thought it could only be a daydream, a fantasy. I never intended to take a lover, not really. I had no idea how to find one. And then you came that night and I thought you were attractive. I was tempted, when you woke up on top of me, to say nothing, but to kiss you and see what happened. I did not, of course.’ She blushed. ‘But I thought you were safe.’

      ‘Safe?’ Never in his life had Ashe been called safe. Dangerous flirt was the term that careful mamas had applied to him in the course of the last Season he had spent in London. Amorous devil was the description not a few society ladies had used, not without a secret smile as they said it. But safe? He rather thought he had just been insulted. ‘I was drunk, for goodness’ sake!’

      ‘I think that drink shows what people are really like. It makes bullies worse and cruel people violent. You were gentle and funny and polite. And you seemed to want me, but you did not take advantage of me.’

      ‘I did want you. I do.’ And if he did not have her soon he was going to be in agony. Every word she said made him want her more, made him ache to teach her just how sweet love making could be. There was so much to explore together.

      ‘So you see?’ Bel’s lips curved into a smile. ‘You are safe, and you said you are a rake, so you understand about not wanting entanglements, and I will not have to worry about toying with your affections or breaking your heart or anything like that. But you do want to make love to me—even I can tell that. I quite understand if it is only once—I do not expect I will be any good at it. But then at least I’ll know what I have been missing.’

      ‘Close your eyes,’ Ashe said, returning that smile. ‘I can promise to be safe. And gentle. And to show you what you have been missing. But I am not sure I can promise to be funny, not all the time.’

      ‘All right.’ Reassured, still smiling, Bel closed her eyes and waited, trying to follow what Ashe was doing. There was some rustling, then his footsteps padding round to the other side of the bed.

      ‘You close your eyes, too, Horace,’ she heard him order, and stifled a gasp of nervous laughter. The covers lifted, cooler air fanned over her body for a moment as the bed dipped with his weight, then she felt the length of him against her side. Long, hard, warm. ‘You can look now,’ Ashe said as he put an arm under her shoulders and pulled her against him.

      ‘Oh.’ Instead of the bare skin she was prepared for, there was the soft linen of a dress shirt. ‘I thought…’

      ‘And I thought you might be more comfortable like this for a little while. Now, relax, snuggle up, put your arm here and just lie with me. We do not have to hurry.’

      It was not at all what she had expected, but Bel did as she was told, awkwardly putting her left arm over Ashe’s chest and letting herself be gathered in against his ribcage.

      He was as big as she remembered, his chest broad as she spanned it, the shoulder her head was cushioned against as solid as only hard-won muscle could make it. Her own breathing was all over the place, Ashe’s was steady, deep and easy.

      And the scent of him was the same, too, only without the tang of sweat from a hard night’s revelry or the strong smell of brandy. There was a hint of a subtle citrus that she guessed was his soap, the laundry smell of clean linen, fresh from the iron, and, underneath it, man. Ashe’s own, personal scent, his skin.

      Bel rubbed her cheek against his shirt, wishing she could feel the texture of that skin. Their feet touched, bare, and Ashe hooked his right ankle over to capture her feet. It felt secure, warm, as though she was special. Her eyes drifted closed as his hand began to stroke her head. The span of his fingers could have encircled her throat, had wielded a weapon, could master a horse, and yet his touch was so gentle that she sighed with content. The thought drifted through her mind that already he had spent almost as much time in her bed as Henry ever did in one visit.

      She had expected almost any emotion, any sensation other than this peaceful drift, this warmth moving gently to the rhythm of his breathing. So peaceful, so safe…

       Chapter Eight

      ‘Good morning, my lady. You had a proper night’s sleep at last, I am glad to see.’

      Bel opened her eyes on to bright sunlight and the sounds of Philpott in the next room briskly organising her wardrobe for the day.

      She scrambled up into a sitting position and stared wildly round the room. Where was Ashe? Beside her the bed was neat, the far side tucked in tight as she tugged on the covers. The pillows were smooth. There was no litter of male garments across the floor, her poetry book sat chastely on the table where she had put it last night and the candles had been carefully pinched out, not left to gutter and burn away.

      It had all been a dream? It must have been. No man would accept an offer to a lady’s bed and then simply cuddle her, make the bed again and silently slip away while she slept. Which meant that she had dreamt a safe ending to her fantasy. Had she even dreamed asking Ashe to be her lover?

      Confused, Bel turned to run her hand over the pillow beside her and saw it. On the embroidered linen was a single blond hair. She picked it up and it curled in her fingers, the one strong filament conjuring up the image of a whole head of hair: golden, thick, curving over-long into his nape.

      Ashe was here last night. I did not dream it. And he had come to bed in his shirt because she was shy, and he had let her sleep in his arms because she was tired and he had made the bed, quietly, so as not to СКАЧАТЬ